


Judas Kiss

by marleymars



Series: Attachment Theory [10]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: I'm Sorry, M/M, Public Sex, Sexual Assault, also some sad stuff, armin and irwin being terrible and adorable, first chapter is mostly cute, it'll get worse later on, physical violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-07
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:31:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marleymars/pseuds/marleymars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>DISCONTINUED</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I will no longer be updating Attachment Theory.

Armin stood in front of the angled clothing store mirror, tugging at the collar on the jacket he’d pulled off the rack just a moment ago. Ordinarily he wasn’t really a big fan of shopping, but it was Sunday and Irwin had asked if he wanted to go with him. His boyfriend—being disgustingly rich as he was—had all of his clothing custom-tailored to fit him. Not just his work clothes— _all of it_ , even his casual outfits. After teasing him about it for an hour or so the night before, Armin had agreed to go along with him anyway.

“Shopping” with Irwin hadn’t been any more exiting so far than it usually was without him. Oh sure, Armin was glad for any excuse to be able to get out of the house, and Irwin was a study in male perfection no matter what he was wearing. However, after ogling the older man as he had his measurements taken for a half an hour before he started trying on suits, he’d decided to wander the store on his own. Not that he was really alone, even now. One of Irwin’s bodyguards was at the door, watching everybody that came in, keeping an eye out for anyone suspicious or matching Armin’s description of his stalker.

A little shudder teased down his spine, and he closed his eyes for a moment, fending off the lurking image of his pursuer. The moment he’d finally realized that yes, he was being followed, had been one of the scariest in his life. It didn’t matter that the guy hadn’t come up to him, hadn’t said anything, or tried to touch him, hurt him—he knew where Armin lived, knew who he was, and wanted him to be afraid. That much he was sure of. Why else would he stand right behind him in a group of people waiting at a crosswalk? Why would he make himself perfectly visible, only bothering to hide his face, if he hadn’t wanted Armin to know?

Romulus had begun to whine, sensing his fear, and Armin had practically dragged the mastiff home. When he’d told Irwin about it, seeing the look on his face—horror mixed with murderous rage—had only made him feel worse. He’d needed to tell him, though. He hadn’t wanted to add to his boyfriend’s worries, but in the end he’d had to. Telling Irwin had made him feel a little better, a little safer.

His friends had been horrified when he’d told them. Partly because he waited until Irwin was home to do so, but mostly because they feared for his safety. Eren had gone off on a rant about how it had been a bad idea for him to get mixed up with Irwin in the first place, and he hadn’t shut up until Mikasa had smacked him upside the head. “Armin can make his own choices,” she’d said, “He’s in trouble now, and protecting him is all that matters.” Eren had had the good grace to look ashamed when he saw the guilty way Armin was staring at the floor.

“Irwin’s a good man,” he’d said defensively. “This isn’t his fault.” He could always count on Eren to be furious on his behalf, but he did admittedly take it too far at times. At least he knew when to admit he’d done so. He and Mikasa had both volunteered to be his personal escorts for any outing; no matter what they were doing, they promised to drop everything if he needed them.

He hated that they had to, though. He didn’t like knowing people were so worried about him, that he was giving them sleepless nights wondering if he was okay. Irwin was bad enough—Armin had started texting him to let him know where he was going when he went out, doing so for his own comfort and so that the older man wouldn’t worry so much. Not that Irwin didn’t always have a hardline to his whereabouts, what with the fact that there was always somebody watching Armin wherever he went now.

It might have been done from a place of love and concern for his wellbeing, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. Being constantly watched, having his boyfriend worried so sick that he felt the need to track his location—it wasn’t fair. Not to either of them. And he couldn’t really blame Eren for giving Irwin the side-eye treatment, when his friend had to watch all of this happening. From the outside it had to look like a case of a controlling, obsessive boyfriend.

_It can’t go on forever_ , he thought. Someday things would go back to normal, and they could just be a regular couple again. Going shopping together was a step in the right direction; something _normal_ that _normal_ people did together. Though the bodyguard was a bit of a wrench in the cogs.

“That looks good on you,” a voice said from behind him, and Armin spun around in surprise. He’d been so completely lost in thought, he hadn’t even noticed Irwin coming up behind him in the mirror.

“You think?” he asked, turning back to his reflection and frowning, trying to calm his furiously pounding heart. He straightened the coat—it was a military style short trench coat, black with an excessive number of pockets, and a secret hood zipped on the inside. “You don’t think it’s too…utilitarian?”

“No,” Irwin said, reaching up to button one of the loose epaulets on the shoulder, “You look—,”

“Don’t you dare say I look ‘cute,’ Irwin Smith,” Armin huffed. Irwin just gave him a smile, and waggled his eyebrows innocently. “You’re really no help at all, you know that? You’re supposed to give me constructive criticism, like me when I told you that bolo tie you had on this morning looked ridiculous.”

“Well, I was going to say you looked handsome, not ‘cute,’” Irwin informed him, “And that comment about my bolo really hurt. I thought it made me look rather dashing.” Armin shot his reflection a dirty look, and Irwin’s innocuous smiled only widened. “You look really cute in this jacket, by the way.”

“You suck,” Armin said, looking down at where the price-tag dangled precariously from the jacket’s sleeve. He steeled himself as he finally raised his arm to read it…and laughed at the numbers stamped on the little square of paper, “Not that it makes a difference. Sorry jacket. We could have had it all.” He began to shrug it off with a touch of reluctance. It was $250.00 regular price, but was marked down to $125 due to the encroaching threat of springtime. _What a bargain_ , he thought sarcastically.

“If you want it I’ll buy it for you,” Irwin said, the offer not surprising Armin in the least.

“It’s okay,” he said, “It’s going to be too warm out to wear it in a few weeks. And my jacket is still good.” He plucked said jacket off the floor where he’d dropped it. It was a faded green, worn around the cuffs and pockets, a size or two too large on him, and similar in style to the black jacket, but he’d bought it for twenty bucks at Target five or six years ago. Admittedly, it was probably due for a replacement. He’d already had to sew a few holes closed, and had earned more than one pricked finger for his troubles.

“Your jacket looks like it’s going to disintegrate in the next strong breeze,” Irwin said as Armin carefully placed the too-expensive coat back on the rack.

“It’s a little careworn,” Armin admitted as he looked down at his outfit. An old band t-shirt, a faded pair of corduroys, old sneakers, a beat up backpack. No wonder the people shopping here had been wrinkling their noses at him. He dressed like he lived in a garbage can. “Okay, so it’s been a while since I went clothes shopping. I’m unemployed, though, so it’s not like I can go spending all my savings on stuff I don’t need.”

“Well, it’s too bad you don’t have a rich, successful boyfriend who would buy the world for you.” Armin stuck his tongue out at the older man, then turned and looked longingly at the coat. He _had_ looked pretty cute in it.

“…You can buy me the jacket,” he conceded, trying to sound as grudgingly annoyed by his crumbling resolve as was humanly possible. “But that’s it. We’re not going on a shopping spree.”

“Whatever you say, darling.” Armin knew he shouldn’t feel as bad as he did about letting Irwin buy him something now and then—especially when his bill for the day was well over a thousand dollars anyway—but he did. The looks the clerks gave him behind Irwin’s back didn’t help. Honestly, he didn’t care what they thought…or he tried not to. They didn’t know him, didn’t know how often he turned down Irwin’s offers to buy him things. Regardless, their sneering faces chafed as he and Irwin exited the store, as did the glaringly obvious presence of the bodyguard lurking by the door. At least he wasn’t driving them around today.

“What’s the matter?” Irwin asked as they climbed into his car.

Armin looked down at the bag between his feet, and sighed. “Buyer’s remorse,” he said.

“I’m the one who bought it,” Irwin said with a laugh.

“Yeah. That’s the problem.”

“Oh, stop. There’s no feeling guilty about this, Armin.” The younger man bit his lower lip, and fiddled with the bag’s handles, and Irwin asked him, “Remember that time I was sick, and you told me that when you’re in a relationship you’re supposed to take care of each other?”

“Yeah,” Armin said.

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to do. I’m just using the means in my possession to take care of you, whether you like it or not.”

“I know, but…it’s too much. And...I mean, it makes me feel like what I have isn’t good enough. Like I can’t be with you unless I drive a nice car or wear overpriced designer jackets,” Armin said. He hated saying it, because he knew it wasn’t what Irwin thought. It was just what the people who looked down their noses at him thought, and he was stupid, stupid, _stupid_ for agreeing with them.

“Armin, you know that’s not true,” Irwin said, sounding dismayed. “I would never…I’m only trying to make sure you never want for anything. It’s bad enough that you have to deal with being stalked, and having to be watched over all the time. If there’s anything I can ever do to make all of this up to you, then I won’t hesitate to do it. I’d spend every last dollar I have if it came to that.” Armin looked up at him, and saw he was gripping the steering wheel and staring off through the windshield, the expression on his face rigid, but lined with unease.

Armin leaned up out of his seat, reaching to turn Irwin’s face toward his own. He kissed first his cheek, and then his mouth, then wrapped his arms around his shoulders. “I know,” he said. “I just…I get these thoughts in my head sometimes and it’s really hard for me to shake them. I know you don’t think that. I’m just ridiculous.”

“So, does that mean you’re going to let me spoil you today? And no arguments about anything costing too much.”

Armin rolled his eyes, but kissed him again. “Yes, alright. Just today, though.” The triumphant look on Irwin’s face made him smile. Anything that made Irwin happy made him happy, so he supposed it couldn’t hurt to let him go a little overboard with his credit card. He would just have to try his best to keep him away from any car dealerships or exotic pet stores.

They were parked in a private multilevel garage where Irwin had handed his keys to a valet earlier that morning—Armin had been nervously reminded of Jean, and was again when Irwin told the young man at the booth that he’d changed his mind. The valet seemed disgruntled that he’d had to go get the rich man’s car for him, only to have to go drive it back and park it again. Jean had left his valet job months before he and Armin had started dating, but he’d still complained about it occasionally as being one of the worst jobs he’d ever had.

“Thank him!” he hissed at Irwin as the older man turned to leave. He was normally more courteous than some of the other wealthy people Armin had met, but he was still oblivious sometimes. Armin wasn’t going to make that mistake tonight—he wasn’t going to let Irwin get away with buying him what turned out to be an entire new wardrobe without thanking him as enthusiastically as possible as soon as they were alone. He’d been doing stretches lately—he had a lot of time on his hands so he had to do _something_ —so he knew he’d be able to last longer without his legs giving out.

“What are you thinking about?” Irwin asked him as they exited yet another store. Armin hated having his measurements taken, and was trying to get Irwin to take him to normal stores where he could just try things on. It didn’t help that he was having trouble getting over his reluctance to accept his boyfriend’s generosity. Thinking about riding his dick helped alleviate some of his discomfort.

“You’ll find out,” Armin said slyly, quickly correcting the little grin he’d been wearing.

“Oh will I—what’s wrong?” Irwin looked down at him with a puzzled expression—Armin had come to an abrupt stop while he had been leading him to the next store down.

“Um. Not this store,” he said, staring up at the sign over the door. _Armatur_. A stupid name for an equally stupid store.

“Why not?” Irwin said, following his line of sight with a confused frown.

“It’s just…I used to work here. When I first moved to the city,” Armin said.

“And you didn’t like it?”

“No,” Armin said vehemently, “No, it was _awful_. The manager was the biggest asshole. He lorded our jobs over our heads, like he wanted us to know that he could fire us at any time for any reason. I’d never had anyone be so mean to me for no reason before. I mean, I had some bullies when I was a kid, but this was a grown man. I was so scared to go to work sometimes, I honestly wanted to just quit and drop of out of school and move back home.”

“Really?” Irwin asked, frown deepening by the word.

“Yeah. And then he fired me one day because this customer—this fucking _idiot_ thought I stole her receipt. She returned something, and I don’t know if I threw it away, or she took it, but she came back in an hour later and started screaming at me, saying I was trying to steal her credit card number—which wasn’t even on the receipt—and she said if I wasn’t fired immediately then she was going to call customer service and have everyone in the store fired. So he _fired_ me because he didn’t want to get in trouble with corporate,” Armin finished irritably. It still stung, even years later. “I was so depressed for weeks after that, and it just really fucked me up for a while. I couldn’t believe anybody could be so terrible to me unless I’d done something to deserve it.”

“Do you think he still works here?” Irwin asked, looking away from Armin and toward the revolving door that lead inside.

“Oh, no, Irwin you don’t—it was years ago, you—wait! Irwin!” It was too late. He was already striding forward into the store, and Armin had no choice but to follow him. Thankfully, everything Irwin had bought for him was being delivered to the penthouse, otherwise he would have been weighed down with bags. Unfortunately, that meant he didn’t have a good excuse to stop Irwin from going into the store.

The manager was nowhere in sight, if indeed he still did work there. Armin had made it a point to put this place as far out of his mind as he could. It was not a source of happy memories for him, after all. Customers that were rude, a sadistic boss, living in constant fear of being fired for no reason—no, this was not a place he enjoyed thinking about. Armin reached his boyfriend and gripped his arm, sticking close to him in case he needed to use him as a human shield.

“Oh, God,” he groaned when he saw who was working behind the counter.

“Is that him?” Irwin asked quietly.

“No,” Armin said, “That’s his gross son, _Flegel_. He’s a whiny, spoiled brat.” Flegel had been almost as bad as his father, but more childish, and always running to daddy when he didn’t get his way. They must have been short on employees if he was actually working and not just standing around throwing tantrums. “Irwin, I really don’t want to be in here. Can we please just go?”

“Just a moment,” he said, giving the hand gripping his arm a reassuring pat. “Excuse me, young man.” He approached the desk, and Flegel looked up with a put-upon expression.

“Yes?” he asked. His eyes narrowed, as if he recognized Irwin but couldn’t place him. Then his eyes landed on Armin, and nearly bugged out of his head. “Um, sir. How can I help you?” His voice cracked as he spoke, and Armin stepped a little closer to his boyfriend. Irwin was rich and powerful, sure, but that wouldn’t stop Mr. Reeves from kicking him out of his store.

“I’d like to speak to the manager, if he’s here,” Irwin said calmly, as if he didn’t notice the look of terror on Flegel’s face.

“Yes! Right away! I’ll go get him!” He wasn’t supposed to leave the register unattended, but that didn’t seem to matter to him at the moment. He turned and ran through the door that led to the back, and it was barely a minute before Armin could hear Reeves huffing and puffing his way down the hallway.

“What is the meaning of—,” Reeves stopped dead in his tracks. His son must not have told him who was waiting for him, if his expression was anything to go by. “Mr. Smith!” he said, adopting an oily smile. He hadn’t seemed to have noticed Armin yet. Possibly because the younger man was currently hiding directly behind his boyfriend.

“Forgive me, but I don’t know your name,” Irwin said.

“Reeves,” said the manager, “Dimo Reeves, at your service sir. What can I do for you? Just stopping in to browse, or is this a business related visit?”

“Just browsing,” Irwin said as Armin furrowed his brow in confusion. “Actually, my boyfriend recommended I stop by. I don’t know if you remember him, but he used to work here.”

“Oh? That little blond boy from the news! He did look familiar, but I’m afraid I don’t—,” Armin stepped out from behind Irwin, and Reeves turned that disgusting grin on him. _He doesn’t even remember me_ , he thought. From the look he was giving Armin, he must have only had a vague recollection at best, and no idea of the sort of anxiety he’d caused. “Oh, yes! I remember…” And then he _did_ remember. All the color drained from his face, and he regarded Irwin with the sort of terror a mouse might regard a cat.

The smile Irwin wore was icy, and didn’t reach his eyes. “He told me a very interesting story just now. I don’t think I appreciate having someone working for me who treats their employees the way that you do.” With that, Armin finally understood. His boyfriend owned the store he’d spent six months of his life suffering in.

“Sir, please, I—,” Reeves stammered, wringing his hands together nervously.

“I won’t have you fired…for now, but from now on you’re going to treat your employees with the utmost respect. Give them all a raise, and do me a favor? Make your son get a job in a place where he’s not given special treatment.” Reeves was nodding so hard that Armin thought his toupee was going to fall off.

“Yes sir, yes of course!”

“And I think my boyfriend could stand to hear an apology from you,” Irwin added coolly.

“Yes, I,” his eyes darted over to Armin, and he swallowed hard, “I’m so very sorry, er, young man.”

“You don’t even remember my _name_ ,” Armin said, feeling slightly incredulous. He looked up at Irwin and asked, “I don’t have to accept his apology, do I?”

“Of course not, sweetheart,” he said, giving Armin a far warmer smile than the one he’d been wearing since they walked into the store. “I think I’ve seen enough here. Let’s go.” Ignoring the look of dread on Reeves’ face, he turned, towing Armin with him toward the door.

“Wait,” the younger man gasped. Irwin paused and looked down at him as he grabbed a folded sweater off a nearby table. “I want to try this on first.” The older man raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t ask questions, allowing himself to be pulled toward the fitting rooms. Arming tossed a glance over his shoulder at Reeves, and saw that his son had joined him. Both of them were watching them, as were several other customers. He summoned his most wicked smile, and stepped through the door.

The changing rooms were all empty, and normally there was an attendant who would stand to the side to offer assistance, but Reeves must have fired them because nobody was at their little station. He pulled Irwin into one of the spacious stalls, and shut the door behind them as he tossed the sweater to the floor.

“What’s all this about?” the older man asked, smirking down at him as Armin put his hands on his chest, pushing him back until he was up against the wall.

“Reeves looked like he was about to piss his pants,” Armin said, “I just…I always wanted to see him knocked down a few pegs.” He stood up on his toes, and Irwin met him halfway, mouth open as Armin sought his tongue and bit at him, tugging on his lower lip between his teeth.

“Armin, you don’t happen to have a little bit of a power kink, do you?” he asked as the younger man trailed his mouth across his jaw.

“Maybe,” he murmured, “I mean, that was just _really_ hot. You scared the shit out of him and…that’s not weird, is it?” he asked, pulling back just enough to look Irwin in the eye.

“Not at all,” he answered, eyes heavy lidded and voice low.

Armin felt a little shiver of excitement. Perhaps he was also a bit of an exhibitionist, as this would be the second time he gave his boyfriend a blowjob in a public place. Only this time, he wasn’t really opposed to the idea of the people outside of the dressing room knowing about it.

He kissed Irwin again, slipping his arms underneath his coat and raking his fingers down the front of his shirt. “I want them to know,” he whispered, maintaining eye-contact as he slowly unfastened Irwin’s belt.

“Oh, I’m sure they already know,” Irwin said, smoothing a hand along Armin’s cheek before tangling it into his hair. He kept it there as Armin slid down to his knees, tightening his grip as the younger man opened the front of his pants and nibbled at his cock through the fabric of his underwear. He groaned rather audibly, and Armin felt his face heating up, but didn’t stop. With trembling hands, he freed his boyfriend’s erection, pumping it with a loose grip while he kissed the sensitive skin above it.

“Does that feel good?” he asked as Irwin rumbled above him, in between quick little flashes of his tongue against the burning shaft. He nuzzled the length affectionately, and Irwin hissed at the feeling of his soft cheek against his cock. He gave Armin’s hair an insistent little tug, and the younger man licked up the extent of him, circling his tongue around the head and lapping at the little beads of precum that where gathered there.

“Armin,” he groaned, a needy look on his face that made Armin’s stomach do flip-flops.

“Why don’t you ask nicely?” he murmured, dragging his tongue slowly along the slit as he stroked him with equal leisureliness.

“If you make me beg, then I get to come on your face,” Irwin groused. Armin just stared up at him expectantly, flicking his tongue out playfully until the older man couldn’t take it anymore. “Fine, God, _please_ Armin. Suck my cock.” He certainly wasn’t bothering to keep his voice down. Anybody who walked by the changing area would be able to hear them. The acoustics were supposed to be good, so a customer calling out for help would be heard through most of the store.

Armin obliged him, though, taking him deep, pushing his cock into the side of his mouth—he could fit more of him that way, he’d found. His cheek could stretch where his throat couldn’t, and Irwin clearly enjoyed it. He didn’t bother being quiet either, humming happily around the organ in his mouth, and making lewd sucking noises that echoed off the walls along with Irwin’s little sounds of pleasure.

“You are filthy,” Irwin growled somewhat desperately. Armin just drew on him a little harder, making him suck in a breath as he began to massage his balls. Irwin began stroking his hair as he bobbed back and forth on his cock, muttering little words of encouragement to him, telling him in a single breath that he was beautiful and evil and wonderful.

Armin knew he was going to come when the older man tugged his hair again, brushing it back out of his eyes and cupping the side of his face. He pulled off, releasing his boyfriend’s cock and sitting back on his heels as Irwin began pumping himself. He left his mouth open, but closed his eyes, and a moment later heard Irwin’s muted shout of pleasure, and felt the hot spurt of his seed on his chin and cheek. When he cracked open an eye he saw Irwin’s were closed, and that he looked absolutely spent, leaning back against the wall as if his legs couldn’t support his full weight. Armin leaned forward to take him again, making sure he was clean and drained before tucking him back into his underwear.

“Come here,” Irwin said, holding out a hand to help him to his feet. Armin stood and leaned against him, and shuddered with desire as the older man licked away his own cum, then mopped up the leftover saliva with his sleeve.

“Now you can do me,” he said, and Irwin heaved a laugh. “And I’m not going to be as quiet as you.”

“You wouldn’t be anyway,” Irwin said as he lovingly stroked Armin’s cheek with the back of his hand, “The entire street is going to hear you, and that’s if you did bother to be quiet.”

He wasn’t wrong. Armin encouraged him with unabashed shouts, mewling and sobbing as he pushed into Irwin’s mouth. “Oh, fuck baby,” he whined, “That feels so good!” He half-expected somebody to call the police. Reeves wouldn’t, but some patron of his store might. _Wouldn’t that be_ _something_ , he thought _, Irwin and I both being arrested for public indecency_. Indecent was a good word for the way Irwin looked up at him with his cock in his mouth. “I love you,” he said, legs and voice shaking after he came into his boyfriend’s mouth. It didn’t take half as long as it had for Irwin to finish, and the older man teased him affectionately for being so sensitive as they caught their breath.

He was still feeling wobbly and a little faint as they left the dressing room holding hands, the sweater Armin had dropped long forgotten. The store was all but abandoned as they strolled through it toward the exit. Only Reeves was visible, standing behind the counter with a far-away look on his face, as if he wished he were anywhere but there.

“We should go shopping more,” Armin said once they were outside.

“Agreed,” Irwin said. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes!” Armin said brightly, “Starving. Let’s go somewhere fancy.”

“Really?” Irwin asked, “You’re not opposed to me buying you an expensive lunch?”

“No,” Armin said as they wound their way down the sidewalk, “Food is different. You can buy me as much food as you want.”

Irwin chuckled as he shook his head, “You and food, Armin. I’m beginning to think you were starved as a child.”

Armin’s laugh came a few seconds too slowly, and he knew Irwin had noticed in spite of his hasty attempt to cover up his hesitation. “If you think I’m bad, you should meet my friend Sasha. She’d eat you out of house and home.”

“Is that so?” Irwin asked, frowning. Armin just made a noise of agreement, and did his best to avoid his boyfriend’s probing gaze. Maybe he would let it go just this once. And maybe pigs would fly and hell would freeze over as well.

He realized they’d reached the parking garage again. A different valet was present, and while he went to retrieve Irwin’s car, the older man pulled him aside and asked him softly. “Armin, did I say something to upset you?”

Armin sighed, and stared out toward the street. The bodyguard who had been trailing them all day was standing surreptitiously over by the gate. He let his gaze flutter back up to meet Irwin’s and nodded. “It’s not your fault, though. You couldn’t have known.”

“Known what?” Irwin asked, giving his shoulder a squeeze.

“I wasn’t taken very good care of when I was little,” Armin told him, “It’s not that big a deal. I mean, I don’t even think about it that much anymore. You just…sort of startled me.”

“Not that big a deal?” Irwin said, “Of course it’s—,” he paused when he saw the imploring look on Armin’s face.

“I don’t really want to talk about it now,” Armin said, “Please. Not when…we’re having a good day today. I want to enjoy it. I promise I’ll tell you about it, but…not now.” Irwin seemed to consider this for a moment, and then he gave Armin a soft, understanding smile.

“Alright. I’ll hold you to that, though.”

“Deal,” Armin said, feeling a little rush of relief. The valet pulled up with the car a moment later, and they climbed inside. Armin reached for his boyfriend’s hand immediately once they were seated, enjoying the little smile it brought to Irwin’s face. “Thank you for today, by the way. It makes me feel better, like everything is going to be okay.”

“Everything _will_ be okay,” Irwin told him, pulling his hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles. “Now what do you want for lunch, sweetheart?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m figuring shit’ll start going down next chapter. Hold onto ur bums. (I’m really not procrastinating the bad stuff, I just keep getting waylaid by the build-up, but that happens every time anyway.)

“Good morning, sweetheart.” Armin paused in the dining room doorway, regarding his boyfriend with an affectionate little smile. The older man was sitting at the table, leaning over a meager breakfast as he worked on something on his tablet. Armin was sure he _was_ working—sometimes he would use the iPad to read, but he never used electronics for games. “Going out?” Irwin asked as he looked up, gaze slipping downward.

Armin looked down at his outfit—a business vest over a white button-up, accompanied by dark jeans and a shiny pair of shoes. Admittedly, he felt a little self-conscious about what he was wearing; he’d never dressed like this before, not even for job interviews. Well, he’d worn a similar outfit to his prom, but he’d felt pretty goofy then, too. The jeans were essentially a compromise he’d made for himself, so he wouldn’t feel completely over-dressed.

“Yeah,” he said, looking back up, “I’m going to work with you.”

“Are you?” Irwin said, frowning down at his breakfast—he ate the same thing every day. Toast with a fried egg, and black coffee. Armin had always hated the taste of unsweetened, creamless coffee, until he’d tasted it off of his boyfriend’s tongue. “Did I know about this?” he asked, gesturing to the chair beside him, where Armin quickly seated himself.

“I just thought of it,” he said. “Okay, that’s a lie. I’ve been thinking of it for a week or two, but I kept feeling like I’d just be getting in your way.”

“What made you change your mind?” Irwin asked, arching an eyebrow as Armin reached for his coffee, took a sip, and then set it back down with a grimace.

“Eugh. Boredom,” Armin said, fingers wrapped around the warm mug. “I can’t stay cooped up in this apartment by myself for another day, Irwin. All my friends work, and I don’t wanna go out by myself. I know your goons will follow me but…If I have to sit around here all day again I’ll die Irwin. _Die_.”

The older man reached for his cup, pulling it gently from Armin’s hands and swallowing from it before responding. “And what are you going to do if you come with me?”

“Anything!” Armin groaned as he stretched across the table. “Whatever you want. I’ll file stuff, bring you coffee, clean—I mean it, I don’t care as long as I can _do_ something.”

“You realize I have an assistant to do all those things for me,” Irwin said as he casually took another draught from his cup.

“Then I’ll help Bertholdt.”

“You’ll be my assistant’s assistant?”

“Yes! Come on, baby, please? I didn’t get up this early for you to tell me I can’t go. I mean, where else am I going to wear these silly outfits you bought me?” Irwin had insisted on him having a well-rounded wardrobe, though Armin seriously had no idea where he was going to go with some of the things that now hung on his side of the closet. He would make an honest effort to wear everything, though. He wouldn’t let Irwin’s money go to waste by letting it all gather dust.

“You don’t look silly. You look _nice_. Like an adult,” Irwin said, reaching to cover Armin’s outstretched hand with his.

“Oh, and I didn’t before?” Armin asked sulkily.

“That’s not what I meant. You _always_ look beautiful to me, Armin. There are just different ways of presenting yourself to the world, and this one makes you look mature and professional,” Irwin explained as his thumb began to move in circles on Armin’s wrist. It was one of his signature moves, an innocent little gesture that sent tingles running up and down his arm and made him lose track of whatever he’d been thinking.

“You smooth-talking bastard,” Armin sighed, turning his hand palm-up and weaving their fingers together. “So, what’s the answer here? Can I come with you or not?”

“Of course you can,” Irwin said, “Why would I say that you couldn’t?”

“You’re the biggest jerk,” Armin said, but he pulled Irwin’s hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “Come on, let’s go!”

“Don’t you want breakfast?” Irwin asked.

“Well, yeah. You’re buying, right?”

“I suppose…,” Irwin said with a long-suffering sigh. Armin hopped out of his chair and clasped his boyfriend’s face in his hands, holding him still as he smooched him loudly on the bridge of his nose.

“Thanks, babe,” he whispered, adding in a quick hug before pulling away.

Ten minutes later he was dozing off in Irwin’s car, head propped against the window as they rolled through the city streets. He could hear his boyfriend’s soft chuckling, but until he’d had his coffee he wouldn’t be able to summon the wherewithal to care. The initial burst of energy he’d felt that morning upon deciding to ask Irwin if he could go to work with him was gone. At least until he felt something crinkly being placed into his lap, and roused himself enough to see the Styrofoam cup being held out for him to take.

“Mmm,” he sighed, holding the plastic lid right up under his nose and inhaling. “Cinnamon?”

“Of course.”

“You’re the best boyfriend in the world,” he said with a happy little sigh. “Just so you know, if we ever get in a huge argument, cinnamon coffee is the key to my heart. Not flowers, or candy—well, maybe candy. But cinnamon coffee, definitely.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Irwin said dryly.

“And what should I do if I ever need to get back into your good graces?” Armin asked when the information was not forthcoming.

“Well, seeing as I’m eternally magnanimous and forgiving, I would accept a heartfelt apology and a promise to do better.”

“Aw, that’s sweet.”

“I would also accept a check.”

“Dammit, Irwin.”

“Made payable to Irwin Smith, or Titan Enterprises. Whichever you prefer.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, or I would dump your ass based on the corny jokes alone,” Armin grumbled as he pinched his boyfriend’s arm affectionately.

“If we’re going to talk about bad jokes, then need I remind you of the last time you were drunk?” Irwin said with a teasing smirk.

“Shut up. I need to drink my coffee and eat this—oh, an omelet? Did I mention you’re the best boyfriend ever?”

They arrived early, as Irwin had a penchant for being anywhere he needed to be at least a half an hour before he needed to be there. It at least gave Armin a chance to eat the rest of his breakfast, though he didn’t see any other benefits of getting to work early. All it seemed to mean was that they would be there even longer.

“You could have slept an extra half-hour,” he groused tiredly from the little cushioned bench on the far side of the room.

Irwin looked up from his desk, where he was already working diligently like the dork that he was. Honestly, Armin liked to be punctual and get things done on time, but this was too much. “Oh, and wind up running through the door at the last second like you?”

“Yes.”

“Well, at least you aren’t consistently late, like some employees I know,” Irwin said, staring peevishly toward his open office door. Bertholdt’s desk continued to remain unoccupied, five minutes past the time he was supposed to be there.

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Armin said with a shrug. He stood up from the bench and walked over to the desk where he dumped his cup and container in the garbage bin. Irwin just shook his head and went back to typing away at his keyboard.

“Yes, he always has a very good reason, and I’ve heard each stammering, petrified one he’s managed to come up with,” the older man said. Armin pursed his lips, and moved over to his boyfriend, draping his arms around his shoulders and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“I’m sure he wouldn’t be late all the time on purpose if he’s that scared of you,” he said. “Try being nice to him.”

“I’m perfectly ‘nice’ to him,” Irwin argued as Armin leaned against him. “I’ve never purposely antagonized him, if that’s what you’re imagining.”

“Yeah, well, you can be scary without realizing it sometimes,” Armin told him, “You get this really intense look on your face when you’re being Mr. Serious Businessman, and while _I_ enjoy it thoroughly, others might find it terrifying.” As he spoke his hand began to wander downward, smoothing along Irwin’s tie, and slipping down inside his blazer.

“Stop,” Irwin said, reaching up to fish out the offending hand. “You said you wanted to come here to work, not to fool around.”

“Sometimes fooling around _is_ work,” the younger man reasoned as he tried to pull loose from his boyfriend’s grip. “Lemme go, I’m gonna give you a penis-massage.” He tried to use his other hand to free the one that was trapped, only to have Irwin grab hold of that one as well. “Ugh, you jerk!” he growled, curling his hands into fists as he first tried and failed to yank them free, then attempted to angle them toward the older man to punch him. All the while Irwin just sat there looking amused, giving him just enough leeway to get within an inch of his face without actually allowing his fists to make contact. “Mean,” Armin muttered, “mean, mean, mean!”

“I’ll remember this the next time you ask me to buy you something to eat.”

“ _Evil!_ ” the younger man hissed, redoubling his efforts, practically climbing up into the older man’s lap as he struggled to grab at him. “This isn’t even funny anymore! How are you this strong!? I can wrestle dogs bigger than you, why can’t I—,”

A strange squeaking sound interrupted his failing assault, and both men froze as they looked up toward the door. “M-Mr. Smith,” Bertholdt said, staring down at the floor, shoulders hunched, “I…um…”

Armin quickly scrambled down off of Irwin’s chair, smoothing his hands down the front of his vest as soon as Irwin let them go. “Bertholdt,” his boyfriend said, tone cool and smooth. “Armin volunteered to come in today to help you with your work. I’m sure you can find something for him to do.”

“I…y-yes, sir,” the tall, stammering young man managed as Armin rolled his eyes at the older man’s sudden transformation from teasing boyfriend to cold CEO. He followed Bertholdt out into the little lobby area where his desk was, and pointedly shut the door so that Irwin couldn’t spy on them.

“Sorry about that,” he said, offering the high-strung brunet an apologetic smile.

“Oh…it’s okay,” Bertholdt said without looking at him. He set the messenger bag he was carrying down on the floor behind his desk, and looked around at the slightly messy surface as if he had no idea what to do. “I…um…I don’t know…”

“Do you need help with these papers?” Armin asked, pointing to the little tray labeled “out.” It was currently overflowing, and obviously in need of some serious organization.

“I—yeah. Well…,” Bertholdt reached up to rub the back of his neck, shrugging as he did so. He still wouldn’t look Armin in the eye. “I just…I get so many memos and forms for Mr. Smith, and for other people _from_ Mr. Smith. And I have to do so many things, and I swear, I’m not trying to make excuses, I just...” he trailed off as he reached up with both hands to rake at his hair, then gestured helplessly at the state of his desk.

Armin nodded along, finger on his chin as his listened to the taller man’s babbling. “Alright. I get it; it can be overwhelming, right?” Bertholdt just hung his head and nodded. “Okay. I’ll help you get it all organized, while you do whatever else it is you have to do. Okay?”

“You…really?” Bertholdt asked, finally looking up at him with a disbelieving yet hopeful look on his face.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m here for,” Armin said, clasping his hands together as his mind turned through the possibilities. There was a file cabinet in the corner that looked a bit over-stuffed as well. He could start there, get things whittled down, and organize everything into easily navigable categories. “Shouldn’t be too hard.” Dull, but not difficult.

An hour later, and Armin was sitting on the floor adjacent to Bertholdt's desk, surrounded by stacks of paperwork. Every so often he would run out of papers to sort, and would stand up and reach precariously over into the filing cabinet to grab another stack. Occasionally, Bertholdt would cast a quick, nervous glance in his direction, but Armin was too preoccupied to notice. He scanned each paper diligently before sorting it into its designated category, and moving on to the next.

About ten minutes later, a disgusted and disgruntled voice broke him out of his almost robotic trance. “What the hell is this?” He started, and looked up to see Levi standing over him, hands in his pockets, a sneer on his face.

“Organizing,” Armin said shortly, too involved in what he was doing to come up with a proper snide remark.

“What the fuck for?”

“Bertholdt,” he explained. “I’m going through all this paperwork to see what he should keep and what needs to be passed on to someone else or shredded.” He pointed to the various stacks that currently surrounded him. “See, I’ve got them by category; financial, technical, marketing, etcetera, and then when I’m done with _that_ I’m going to sort them alphabetically _within_ those categories, and then—,”

“Oh my God, I got it kid. Jesus, you must be in bureaucratic heaven right now,” Levi grumbled. “Is your boss busy, Hoover? I need to talk to him.”

“I-I’ll ch—,”

“Never mind, I can’t wait for you to stutter your way through another sentence. Have fun, Arlert,” he said as he turned and entered Irwin’s office without so much as knocking. Armin found himself rolling his eyes again, and glancing over at Bertholdt to gauge his reaction. What he wasn’t expecting to see was the poor guy hunched forward over his desk, head bowed and wearing an expression of utter despair.

“Are you okay?” he asked, dropping his current stack of papers without a thought to messing up his system. He got to his knees, then to his feet, and Bertholdt looked up, startled, as if he’d forgotten Armin was there.

“I’m…yeah. I don’t—,”

“Hey, don’t worry about Levi, okay? He’s an asshole. You shouldn’t let him get to you,” Armin said hurriedly, because he was becoming increasingly certain that at any moment Bertholdt was going to burst into tears.

“I just…I don’t know why he has to be such a…,” he shook his head and hugged himself, and Armin felt an immense wave of both sympathy and irritation.

“Come on,” he said, “Let’s take a break.”

“But, they—,” Bertholdt stole a glance toward Irwin’s office door, looking terrified.

“Don’t worry about them,” Armin said firmly, “Come on.” Reluctantly, Bertholdt got up and followed him down the hall to the break room that was on that floor. They passed a few other offices, all with doors shut, and didn’t see any other workers. It was too early for a break, really, but Armin currently didn’t give a damn about that.

“How do you like your coffee?” he asked as he reached the coffeemaker, reaching for cups and the handle of the pot.

“Oh, you don’t…I, uh, just regular,” Bertholdt muttered, flustered by the stern look Armin shot his way.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me,” Armin told him as he poured the black liquid into a paper cup for him. It was weird; he’d never really spoken to Bertholdt before now, just a few words exchanged when he came to see Irwin, and had always just thought he was shy. Now it seemed like his anxiety went a little deeper than just that. “Do they always treat you like that?” Bertholdt just stared at him apprehensively, as if he was too scared to speak. “Come on, you can tell me. I’m not here to spy on you for Irwin. Is he mean to you like that, or is it just Levi?”

Bertholdt accepted the paper cup of coffee with trembling hands. “M-Mr. Smith isn’t so bad, usually. He’s just…he’s so intimidating! He scares the shit out of me, and I don’t even think he’s trying, but sometimes he’s just kind of condescending to me, and—I-I’m sorry! I know he’s your boyfriend, but he just…yeah. And Mr. Rivaille is just…he’s just _mean_. I don’t know why, but he seems to _hate_ me.” He finished just as shakily as he began, losing steam and staring down into his cup with an unhappy expression.

Armin felt a swell of pity for him. He reached up, and put a comforting hand on the taller man’s arm, patting him gently. “I’m sorry. They shouldn’t…I’ll talk to Irwin about it. It’s not fair for them to treat you that way.” On the outside he tried to maintain a sympathetic demeanor as he stood with Bertholdt, chatting lightly with him until he seemed to calm down. He seemed completely surprised that Armin was being so nice to him, particularly after what he’d said about Irwin, but on the inside Armin was frothing with rage.

He walked Bertholdt back to his desk, and then just like Levi, entered his boyfriend’s office without knocking. “How can you treat Bertholdt the way that you do and still fucking sleep at night?” he practically shouted as soon as the door shut behind him. Levi was still there, and both of them looked up at him in shock as he interrupted whatever it was they’d been discussing.

“I’m sorry?” Irwin asked, arching an eyebrow at him in confusion.

“Your assistant is terrified of you!” he snapped, “I understand making sure other people are, but why Bertholdt? He’s supposed to be here to help you, and all you do is scare the shit out of him!” Before Irwin could formulate a response, he rounded on Levi, shoving a finger into his chest as he started in on him. “And you. You could be a little fucking nicer to the guy. I don’t know what crawled up your fucking ass and died, but you don’t have to be a total douchebag to everybody!”

“ _Armin_ ,” Irwin tried to interject, but he didn’t get any further than that.

“I don’t want to hear it right now, Irwin. You’re both fucking assholes and you should be ashamed of yourselves!” With that, he about-faced and stormed back out of the office, ignoring Irwin as the older man called out after him, and slamming the door in his wake. Bertholdt looked up at him in surprise as he stood there for a moment, seething as he tried to collect himself.

“A-Armin?” he asked timidly as he hunched over his keyboard. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Armin said, willing himself to stop shaking. He honestly had never been this angry with Irwin before. Not during the tumult of the trial, when his boyfriend had lied to him, not even the time when Irwin had tried to dump him. After what he’d done the day before, scaring Mr. Reeves into apologizing, he couldn’t believe his boyfriend was doing the same thing to Bertholdt that had been done to him. He took a deep, steadying breath, and then loosed it tremulously. “Let’s get back to work.”

He couldn’t focus properly, but he forced himself to fall back into the rhythm he’d begun with, ignoring Levi when he left Irwin’s office, and ignoring Irwin when the older man stepped out of the office and asked to speak to him. “Not now,” he’d said through gritted teeth when Irwin stood there expectantly. He was too angry to have a rational discussion about it, and continued to feel that way throughout the rest of the day.

When finally it came time for Bertholdt to pack up and leave, his filing cabinet was significantly emptier and more orderly, and Armin’s butt was numb from sitting on the floor for hours. He’d even eaten lunch there, and was regretting it when he stood up to stretch.

“Hey, Armin,” Bertholdt said, still nervously avoiding his gaze, though he seemed a little lighter now. “I…thank you. For…helping me today.”

“It’s no problem,” Armin said, feeling his anger deflating slightly as he got to his feet.

“I…could I…Call you? I mean, not like—well, you know, to talk? I...you’re easy to talk to, and I don’t know a lot of people like that,” Bertholdt ended in a mumble. Armin was a little taken aback by what seemed like a bold move for Bertholdt, but he agreed nonetheless, reciting his number for the tall brunet as he typed it down into his contacts. “Thank you, again,” he said, offering Armin a bashful little smile.

“You’re welcome,” Armin said, giving him another friendly pat on his arm—he was really too tall for him to reach up and pat on the shoulder, “You can call me about anything. I mean it.” He heard the door opening behind him, and turned to see Irwin standing there waiting for him. “See you,” he said to Bertholdt, giving him a little wave as he turned and walked past Irwin into his office.

For the first time since Armin had known him, Irwin seemed at a loss for words. He said nothing as Armin crossed the room and sat down in one of the chairs in front of his boyfriend’s desk, and then the older man sauntered slowly along after him.

“You seem to have made a new friend today,” he said finally as he stopped and leaned against the edge of the desk.

“Yes,” Armin agreed.

“What did he say to you about me?” Irwin asked, direct as usual.

“I’m not going to tell you that,” Armin said defensively as he crossed his arms, “He told me in confidence, and it’s none of your business.”

“None of my business? What my employee says to you about me is none of my business?” he asked dubiously.

“No, it isn’t. I’m not your employee, so I’m not required to answer to you, in case you forgot,” Armin said, bristling slightly at his tone. As if he thought he _deserved_ to be told.

“Armin, you’re being unreasonable,” Irwin said, sounding exasperated.

“Unreasonable? How am I being unreasonable?” Armin demanded as he got to his feet.

“Armin, he is my _employee_ —,”

“Yes, and you should treat him with respect!”

“I do!” Irwin argued, looking frustrated in lieu of his usual calm, collected demeanor.

“No, you don’t! You really want to know what he said to me? You’re condescending and intimidating. And Levi is just a _dick_. There’s no reason for you to treat him that way! And I don’t get why you’re acting surprised about this, after you stood up for me yesterday!” He felt his throat growing tight with emotion, and turned away from his boyfriend, covering his face with his hands as he tried to regain control of himself.

“Armin, I don’t _try_ to intimidate him,” Irwin said, “I’m just trying to maintain a professional atmosphere.”

“Well then, you need to work on your definition of ‘professional,’” Armin spat, “Because it doesn’t mean you have to be an _asshole_ to _everybody_.” There was silence behind him, and then a hand settled on his shoulder. “Don’t,” he sniffed, pulling away.

“Armin, I just…I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Just be _nice_ to him,” he said imploring, turning back around to face his boyfriend. “Be _nice_. It’s not that hard. You’re nice to me, just do _that_ to Bertholdt.” Irwin looked away from him, staring down at his feet and looking, for lack of a better word, lost. Armin had a sudden thought, and took a few steps toward him, reaching out for his hand. “Am I the only one you’re nice to because…you feel like I’m the only one you can let your guard down around?” He’d suspected something like that before, though Irwin always seemed relaxed around Levi, and even Petra. But maybe that was because they’d known each other longer, and knew more about him than Armin did. And Armin…well, he’d already gone through it all, having to tear down Irwin’s walls to get the older man to finally open up to him.

“I…I suppose that’s a good explanation for it,” Irwin conceded, meeting his gaze again. “There aren’t a lot of people I feel I can trust, Armin. But if you feel so strongly about this, then I’ll try.”

The anger he’d been internalizing all day seemed to evaporate completely. Feeling twinges of guilt, Armin slipped his arms around Irwin’s waist, and embraced him tightly. “I wish you’d said something sooner.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m _sorry_. You’re always so understanding, and I…”

“You have your moments,” Irwin said, returning his hug. “When you lose your temper you usually have a good reason for it. You’re just very impassioned about your opinions, and so defensive of anybody you see worthy of your protection. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“You make it sound like I’m some kind of guardian,” Armin said with a laugh.

“Well, you did say you wanted to protect me once, remember? Do you think you haven’t been doing just that the whole time we’ve been together?” Before Armin could answer, Irwin was kissing him softly, molding their lips together and gently smoothing those thumbs of his up and down his throat. “I love you. I love that you can stand up for what you think is right, even to me.”

Armin felt heat prickling across his cheeks, and said, “You can’t exactly scare someone who knows how to suck your dick so that your legs give out.” He saw the way his boyfriend’s eyes darkened, and felt the grip he had on Armin’s shoulders tighten ever-so-slightly. Armin gave him a little smirk, and reached up to tug on his tie. “So, how mad was Levi?” he asked.

“Furious,” Irwin murmured, “He said he was going to break your legs.”

“What a big baby,” Armin tutted. “I bet I could beat him up.”

“Now that’s a fight I’d like to see,” Irwin chuckled. “What do you say we get out of here? You got a lot done today, and I know the only form of payment you’ll accept is something edible.”

“You’re a man after my heart, Irwin.” Armin said as his boyfriend offered him a smile, and went to retrieve his things. As they left the office, heading for the elevator Armin felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. There was a message for him from an unknown number and it read; **Hey Armin! It’s Bert. You can call me Bert, btw. Just texting so you have my number :)**

_Thanks! I’m goin out w Irwin so I’ll txt u after ;P_

**Oh ok. Have fun. Thanks again for everything today.**

_Ur welcome!_

Irwin kissed his cheek as the elevator door shut, and Armin giggled and pushed him away. “Needy,” he teased. He let Irwin take hold of his hand, and leaned against him feeling a sense of relief. As angry as he’d been earlier, he knew he wouldn’t have stayed mad forever, even if they hadn’t talked it out. That was the good thing about being honest with each other, he supposed. It made everything so much easier, and brought them that much closer together.

“You made me this way,” Irwin murmured in his ear, bending low to press another kiss to his jaw, “You’ll just have to learn to deal with it.”

“I think I can do that,” Armin said. The adoring way Irwin looked at him, it really did make him feel safe, feel like things would definitely get back to normal. Irwin loved him, and Armin loved him back in turn, and no silly arguments were going to change that. Of that he was certain.

X

_I talked to Armin today._

**Are you serious? Took you long enough.**

_I know I’m sorry._

**Doesn’t matter  
Just keep working on him**

_Idk if I can do this_

**You can**

_You don’t understand  
He’s actually really nice_

**Nice???**

_Yeah  
He helped me out today and stood up for me_

**Do you think he would have if he knew who you really were?**   
**Don’t fuck this up man**   
**I mean it I need u with me on this**

_I’m sorry_   
_I know what I have to do_   
_It just sucks_

**I know it does  
But you can do it**

_Thanks_

**I’ll call you later**

_Ok  
Be safe_

**Ya ya you too giraffe**   
**Try not to worry about it so much**   
**And remember who your friends are**

_I will :) I promise_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's pretty obvious where this is going in a way, but I'll still do my best to devastate you guys emotionally.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I should warn you guys that this chapter contains potentially triggering material in the form of sexual assault. Secondly, certain characters may be OOC out of necessity for the story, not because I’m trying to demonize them. None of it was really comfortable for me to write, and it’s still going to get worse. I’m trying to push myself out of my comfort zone, but there’s a point to all this beyond that, so bear with me comrades.

After an entire week spent buzzing around Titan Enterprises’ headquarters, Armin was glad for the weekend to come again. He’d have been lying if he said he wasn’t excited about finally being able to sleep in. Waking up before dawn every day, and staying at work with Irwin until past five in the afternoon had him frazzled and sleepy, in spite of the fact that he’d started going to bed earlier.

“I’m just not a morning person,” he said through a yawn every time Irwin thought to tease him about it. Friday night he curled up next to his boyfriend in bed, utterly exhausted, and was asleep in minutes, sent off with the feeling of Irwin’s heavy hand massaging fingers into his scalp. It was nice to go to bed together at a reasonable hour. There was something distinctly domestic about it, unlike the nights when Armin stayed up late waiting for Irwin to come home from work, or got distracted by something on the internet. He couldn’t count the number of times Irwin had found him sitting at the computer in his office at three in the morning, laughing at Vines.

The best thing was waking up Saturday morning in Irwin’s arms, knowing neither of them had to get up and that he could just lay there for a while, snuggled against his boyfriend’s warmth. Irwin was still asleep, and even in that state he looked exhausted. “Poor baby,” Armin whispered sleepily, reaching up to stroke Irwin’s rough layer of stubble from the day before. He was too young for all those crow’s feet around his eyes, the lines in his forehead and around his mouth, though they added to his handsomeness in Armin’s opinion. It just pained him to have to see his boyfriend in this perpetual state of stress, and he’d gotten a much better idea of what caused all that stress while working with him during the past week.

Irwin stirred, a hand reaching up and grasping Armin’s, pulling it down to rest against his heart. “Did I ever tell you I hate being called ‘baby?’” he murmured without opening his eyes.

“Did I ever tell you I don’t care what you think?” Armin said, shifting closer to him and purposely bumping their noses together.

“You’re such a sweet, sentimental lover,” Irwin told him, eyelids cracking open as he pulled Armin’s hand around to encircle his back. With a happy little sigh, Armin hugged him tight and kissed him, pressing their mouths together in a mostly chaste show of affection.

“Stop, ugh, you taste awful,” he muttered when Irwin tried to deepen it, slipping his tongue past the seam of Armin’s lips. The older man laughed and held him close when he tried to pull away, grip strong but not so much so that Armin wouldn’t be able to escape if he really tried.

“So do you,” he said, peppering Armin’s face with soft morning kisses, until the younger man gave in and accepted another kiss on the mouth. He let Irwin’s tongue slide in next to his own, lazy and warm, terrible morning-breath and all.

“You’re gross,” Armin said warmly as Irwin pulled back and kissed his cheek, hands pressed against the hard planes of Irwin’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed. “I love you.”

“Strong words from a man who doesn’t care what I think,” Irwin rumbled, mouth against Armin’s ear.

“Maybe I care a little,” Armin conceded, “But I’m still going to call you baby.”

“Fair enough,” Irwin sighed with feigned resignation, “I should come up with some silly pet-name for you too, though.

“You already call me ‘sweetheart.’”

“Too generic.”

“Well, how about ‘Your Majesty?’” Armin suggested eagerly, propping himself up on an elbow, “Or, ‘super number one boyfriend?’ And you have to give a thumbs-up when you say it.”

“I think I’ll stick with sweetheart for now,” Irwin said with a wry little smile, “I love you too, by the way.”

Armin heaved a disappointed sigh and sat up, glancing over at the clock as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Wow. I can’t believe you slept in past nine. That’s like a record for you,” he said, giving Irwin’s arm a little squeeze as the older man sat up next to him, wincing slightly. Armin tutted, and scooted behind him, setting into his back with searching fingers.

“I actually woke up earlier, but you were all wrapped around me and I didn’t want to disturb you, so I just went back to sleep,” Irwin said. Feeling an overwhelming surge of affection at this explanation, Armin leaned forward and kissed one of the scars on Irwin’s back, fingers continuing to knead into one of his trouble spots. He was all knotted up and tense, which put a lot of strain on the scarred tissue beneath his skin.

“Baby,” Armin whispered, pressing his cheek against the spot he’d just kissed. “You’re so sweet without even trying.”

“Well, to be honest I mostly did it because I like watching you sleep,” Irwin said, turning his head just enough so that Armin could see the intentionally creepy smile he wore.

“I’m twenty percent more adorable when I’m sleeping,” Armin said with a shrug. “Let’s go shower and brush our teeth so we can have a proper make-out session before breakfast.”

“All right,” Irwin agreed with a chuckle, following Armin as he climbed off the bed.

An hour later Irwin stood in front of the stove, making Armin a cheese omelet while the younger man fed a hungry Romulus. “Stop acting like you’ve never seen food before,” he chastised as the overeager dog began inhaling his kibble.

“Like father like son,” Irwin said, placing the plate holding Armin’s omelet onto the counter for him. Cheesy and just a little runny, just the way he liked it.

“I don’t jump up on you and cry when I want something to eat,” Armin said, reaching for the plate as he brushed at the dog hairs clinging to his t-shirt.

“‘Irwin, I’m so hungry, _please_ baby buy me some French fries,’” Irwin mimicked, and Armin gasped in mock offense.

“That is _not_ how I sound,” he said indignantly as Irwin bent down and kissed the top of his head.

“That is _exactly_ how you sound, clinging to my arm and giving me your best puppy-dog eyes,” Irwin said, “Not that I mind, of course.”

“Of course,” Armin said, sticking out his tongue, still minty-fresh despite the quick bout of kissing they’d squeezed in before his stomach started rumbling.

In honor of the warmish spring morning, they ate together out on the patio, unhurried, chatting as they made plans for the day. Armin wanted to go shopping for gardening supplies, since the weather was obviously taking a turn for the warmer. The empty planters edged against the railings were calling to him—it was windy up here, but not so much that it would be harmful. Really, he just wanted some kind of activity that he could do outside without needing a babysitter, and he really missed his garden back home. Originally it had actually been his grandfather’s, but he’d taken over tending to it when grandpa’s arthritis had gotten too bad. Gardening had never really been something that he thought he would enjoy, until he found out that he was actually good at it.

“I’m paying this time,” Armin said once his plate had been summarily cleaned, “I have some money saved up, so I can at least afford to buy some seeds and flowers.”

“Aren’t gardens expensive to maintain?” Irwin asked, crooking an eyebrow at him across the dining table.

“Maybe the kinds with exotic jungle plants and topiaries, but I know how to shop on a budget, Irwin,” Armin said, crossing his arms defensively.

“I’m sure you do, but there’s no need for you to spend your savings on something frivolous,” Irwin said, realizing it had been the wrong thing to say a split-second later when Armin’s eyes narrowed.

“It’s not frivolous to grow your own vegetables, and plant flowers without pesticides to attract bees,” he said indignantly. “It’s cheaper and better for the environment to grow your own food, too. Not all of us grew up with a silver spoon in our mouths, in case you’ve forgotten.”

“No,” Irwin said, recognizing that they were moving into sensitive territory, “I didn’t forget.”

Noting his contrite expression, Armin sighed and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Ugh. Sorry for getting snappy,” he said. He felt Irwin’s hand on his shoulder, and when he looked up was greeted with a warm, understanding smile. A bit of the tension that had clenched around his heart eased off, and he said, “You _are_ allowed to get mad at me when I do that, you know. I get mad at you like seven times a day, and you just get all quiet and repentant, and it makes me feel bad.”

“I think ‘seven times a day’ exaggeration, sweetheart. At any rate, I don’t like seeing you upset,” the older man said, squeezing his shoulder comfortingly, “and I’m fairly certain there’s nothing you could ever do to seriously anger me.”

“You got mad at me the first day I went to work with you,” Armin pointed out, “I think that’s as close to getting into a real argument as we’ve been in months.”

“I wasn’t really angry,” Irwin said. “I was…worried.”

Armin pursed his lips as he felt something clicking into place, “You don’t want to get mad at me because of that first fight we had, when you tried to dump me. You’re afraid you’ll lose your temper with me again.” Irwin actually looked surprised for a moment, before shaking his head with a rueful smile.

“I shouldn’t be surprised anymore when you see right through me,” he said. “There just isn’t any point holding back with you, is there?”

“No, there isn’t. I mean it, Irwin,” Armin sighed leaning forward on his elbows, “If you ever get mad at me I’d rather you just _be_ _mad_ instead of holding it in because you’re scared you might lose your temper again.”

“I’ll never project my own issues on you that way again,” Irwin said solemnly. “You deserve someone that treats you kindly.”

“I know that,” Armin said, “And I don’t mean that narcissistically. I spent a lot of my life thinking I didn’t, but I know I do now. I’d never be with someone who’s nasty to me, and I know you’re not like that. You’re too much of a dork.”

“Good,” Irwin said with a relieved little laugh. He probably would have been happy to leave it at that, but Armin grabbed his hand as he stood and reached for the younger man’s empty plate.

“You deserve somebody who’s good to you too. I hope you know that, Irwin,” he said. “If I’m ever being unfair, you can tell me.”

“I promise, I will,” Irwin said. “Come here.” Armin stood up with him, and let himself be pulled into a tight embrace. He breathed in the spice of Irwin’s cologne—one of the most comforting, reassuring scents on the planet, he was sure—and loosed a contented sigh.

“I’m so glad we can talk about this stuff. It’s makes everything so much easier,” he said into Irwin’s chest. Hiding their feelings, telling white lies to manipulate each other—that was how relationships fell apart. That was why his last one had ended so badly, along with so many others he’d been a witness to.

Really, he knew how lucky he was to have Irwin. None of the rest of it really mattered; not the stalker, or the bodyguards, or the media hounds. Irwin was one of the most important parts of his life, and Armin was really beginning to feel like he always would be. Oddly enough it didn’t scare him, to step back and look to the future and see everything he did from now on including Irwin in some facet. It was reassuring, almost relieving, to feel that way, to know he would always have somebody by his side who loved him.

“Come on,” Irwin said, stepping back, hands on Armin’s waist. “I don’t know anything about gardening, but I’m good for carrying heavy bags of potting soil.”

“That’s basically my whole reason for dating you. I can sleep easy knowing I’ll always have somebody to carry heavy things for me,” Armin teased. He squirmed out of Irwin’s grasp before the older man could stop him, and ran back inside, knowing he was in for a serious tickling if Irwin caught up. “I’ll be in the car, don’t take too long!” he called over his shoulder. He heard Irwin’s answering laughter, and felt a warm swell of love for the older man, washing through him, leaving him feeling light and carefree.

X

“Hey Armin? Can I…talk to you about something?” Armin looked up from where he knelt on the floor—he was in accounting today, working his way through a large room full of shelves that contained stacks upon stacks of boxes full of files. The whole department was a mess, and Armin had taken it upon himself to come down here and start sorting through things. He’d already been at it for three days, disappearing into the depths of the archives for hours at a time, and only emerging when Irwin came to check on him. He was always sweet about it, bringing along coffee and something to eat, because despite Armin’s penchant for food, when he was working on something he could and would go all day without eating.

Today Irwin was in a meeting, and so he’d sent Bertholdt down to make sure Armin took a break—the anxious young man had brought Armin a cup of coffee, which he’d poured down his throat a little too quickly. “Sure,” Armin said, patting the floor beside him. Bert awkwardly lowered himself, sitting cross-legged on the rough industrial carpet and swallowing hard. He looked awfully nervous, more so than usual with his face flushed, and a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead.

When he had spent several minutes sitting there, plucking at the carpet and looking as though he might throw up, Armin gently prompted him with a friendly, “Is everything okay, Bert?”

The brunet started, gangling limbs tensing up as he blushed harder, and clenched his jaw. After a moment, he seemed to force himself to relax, albeit with great effort. “I just…I don’t have anybody to talk about certain stuff with. It’s kind of…embarrassing.”

“What is?” Armin asked. Bertholdt had become much more comfortable with him with each passing day, so whatever it was he wanted to talk about must have been deeply personal.

“It’s just…well, you…you know about… _guys_ , and stuff,” he said, ending in a mumble so faint Armin almost couldn’t hear him.

“Yeah,” Armin said, having a fairly good idea now as to where this was going.

“You and Mr. Smith, you’re…You two…How did you get together?” Armin felt a blush of his own creeping into his cheeks, and he cleared his throat, looking down at the overstuffed manila folder in his hand. “Oh, gosh. T-that’s too personal, I’m s-sorry,” Bert stammered, looking mortified by Armin’s reaction.

“No,” Armin said quickly, “No it’s…it’s okay. The way we got together was just a little…unconventional. We slept together first, then we started seeing each other more seriously a month or so later.”

“R-really?” Bert said, squirming, “Because I…there’s somebody I like but I…I don’t know how to talk to him about it. I like him a lot, but he’s my friend and…” He trailed off helplessly, burying his face in his hands.

“So…you want my advice?” Armin asked after a few seconds.

“Yes, please,” Bert groaned miserably, “I’m terrible at talking to people about this stuff. I get so nervous, I feel sick. I’ve liked him for so long, but I’m scared he’ll say no because we’re such good friends. I just think myself in circles, and I never get anything done because I think up all these reasons why it’s a bad idea.”

Sympathy crashed through Armin like a wave, erasing any traces of social discomfort. “I know how that feels,” he said, setting the file down and reaching over to pat Bert’s shoulder. “Really, I get anxiety too. Sometimes I play out whole conversations in my head, all the scenarios I can think of, until I feel like there’s no point in bringing up the subject because I think I already know what’s gonna happen.”

“Yes!” Bert said, making a strangled sound of anguish, “That’s exactly what I do! I can’t think of any reason he’d say yes, and I just feel defeated before I can even do anything.”

“It’s okay,” Armin said. “He’s your friend right? The worst he can do is say no, and at least then you’ll know. And if you talk it out, tell him how you feel but that you still want to be friends no matter what his answer is, then the rest will be up to him.”

“Do you think that’ll work?” Bert asked, looking up at Armin between his fingers.

“Well, you won’t know if you don’t try. Does he know you’re interested in men?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve never…I haven’t talked about this kind of stuff with him much, but _he’s_ gay. I just don’t…I just don’t know!” he moaned despairingly. “I need…I need like, somebody to be there. I need…Will you help me? Like…be my wingman? I’d feel better if…if somebody had my back.”

“Of course I will,” Armin said, feeling a little thrill. He’d never been a wingman before. He’d never really been the one people came to for dating advice either. “Why don’t we all go out together? I’ll even bring a few of my friends, so we can go as a group. Then you can pull him aside, and if he says yes, then he says yes, and if he says no, then we’ll all be there for you.”

“You’d…you’d do that?” Bert asked softly.

“Yeah. We’re friends right? I’ll do anything I can to help,” Armin said earnestly. Bert looked like he might burst into tears for a few seconds, then he swallowed hard and nodded.

“Thanks, Armin,” he said, voice shaky and whisper-soft.

They agreed on that Friday night. Bert suggested a bar this friend of his liked, and Armin spent the rest of the week finagling information about said friend out of him. The poor guy had to have everything coaxed out of him, but he always seemed relieved after talking to Armin, as if he’d been holding his feelings in for so long that they’d become a burden. All of it just made Armin feel even more strongly defensive of him—Bert was actually a few years older than he was, but he reminded Armin so much of his younger self that it practically hurt.

“I can talk to him for you, if you want,” he said Friday morning as they were getting coffee together.

“About what?” Bert asked.

“About you, you know. Talk you up, remind him how great you are so it’s all fresh in his mind when you tell him how you feel.” Poor, sweet Bert just looked bewildered, as if nobody had ever done anything so nice for him before. According to him, his friend Reiner was one of the only people who’d ever been good to him. Reiner was his best friend since childhood, and he was thoughtful, funny, gentle, smart, caring; he couldn’t stop talking about him once he got started, and frankly Armin found his excitement cute.

“Cute?” Irwin asked later that evening as Armin stood in front of the bathroom mirror, getting ready for his first night out in what felt like forever. Mikasa was picking him up with Eren, and then they would meet Bert and Reiner at the bar he’d specified in the West End. Bert described it as being relatively low-key as bars went, with no deafening music, and plenty of televisions for Eren to watch “the game” on, whichever game that might be.

“Yeah,” Armin said, “He’s just this cute dope. I know you don’t know him too well, but he’s really sweet and awkward, like a big adorable puppy.”

Irwin came up behind Armin as he tried to decide whether to wear his hair up or down. It was really getting too long—one of these days he’d have to have Christa come over and cut it for him. When he was still working, she would give him a trim every few weeks to keep it the same length. Now it was just starting to get out of control, getting wavy at the ends and constantly tickling his neck. Not that his boyfriend was complaining, of course.

“A cute, sweet puppy, huh?” Irwin asked dryly, pulling Armin’s hair back for him. “Wear it in a half-ponytail.”

“Yeah! Like, I dunno. Nobody’s ever asked me to help them with romantic stuff before. I’m just really excited about it,” he confessed, pressing his hands to his cheeks. Then he looked up and saw Irwin frowning, his expression positively brooding, and Armin sighed. “Gosh, you’re not jealous are you?” he asked with a slight scowl, pulling the hair at the crown of his head into a short ponytail, and leaving the rest hanging down his neck.

“No. I’m not the jealous type,” Irwin assured him, meeting his eyes in the mirror. “Jealousy is petty, and would imply a lack of trust in you. I might not trust other people _around_ you, but I trust you and your judgment absolutely.”

“Well…good,” Armin said, pleased. Too many people considered jealously an endearing trait, but in his opinion it was nerve-wracking to have to defend innocent remarks, or time spent with male friends. Bert was cute, but even if he had been Armin’s type, Armin wouldn’t have been able to think about him that way. Not while he was with Irwin. He didn’t think he’d ever look at anybody else the way he looked at Irwin, though. “I trust you, too.”

“I know you do,” Irwin said, reaching under Armin’s chin and turning his head up. He kissed the younger man soundly, then pulled back as his phone began to buzz on the bathroom counter.

“They’re here!” Armin chirped.

“Alright. Just remember; don’t worry about the bodyguard, okay? He’ll keep an eye on you from a distance, but he’ll be discreet,” Irwin said as Armin practically bounced into the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the mattress as he pulled on his sneakers. “Just try to have a good time, and call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” Armin said, touched as usual by his boyfriend’s concern for him. He jumped up from the bed and gave the older man a quick peck on the lips and said, “Don’t wait up for me. I dunno how late we’ll be out.” He knew Irwin would stay up anyway, but at least this way he was absolved of any guilt.

Before he could leave the room, Irwin caught his arm and pulled him close, “Be safe, okay? Promise me.” He looked so perturbed, his apprehension bubbling just under the surface, like an anxious parent sending their child off for their first day of school.

Armin smiled up at him, reaching up to smooth away the worry on his brow. “I will. I promise, I will.”

X

“Goddamit!” Eren snarled, glaring up at the television above the bar. It was on mute, but he was apparently able to follow what was happening in the baseball game that played out across the screen. Armin could only see that they were throwing a ball at each other and running in circles, but Eren seemed pretty into it.

Reiner was too, as it turned out. He and Eren had started the night out by bonding over how much they hated the other team—some animal name, how creative—and were both completely ignoring the rest of them as they rattled off stats at each other during commercial breaks.

“Fuck, I can’t believe how bad we suck tonight,” Reiner said, glaring up at the screen as he took a swig from his bottle of beer.

“It’s because they traded Hewitt. Fucking idiots,” Eren grumbled, “If they—ow! Mikasa, what?” Mikasa nodded toward Armin, who was currently glaring at the incensed brunet.

“Armin brought us here for a reason, Eren,” she said, “and that reason was not to get upset over a baseball game.”

“Oh, come on, you’re pissed too,” he grumbled, reaching down to rub wherever it was she had kicked him under the table.

“Yes, but I also happen to possess a modicum of self-control,” Mikasa retorted.

Armin glanced over at Reiner, who seemed oblivious to their whispered conversation. Bert had gotten up to go to the bathroom during a particularly vehement moment of sports-fan rage, and was taking an unusually long time. The most likely reason was that he was uncomfortable, and probably regretting coming out tonight, getting himself worked up while also trying to calm himself down.

“Come on, Eren,” Armin said, leaning against Mikasa so he could be heard over the ambient music and chatter of the bar, without being so loud as to attract Reiner’s attention. “Be a team player.” References to teamwork always seemed to do the trick with Eren, especially when he was all jazzed up from watching sports.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbled, turning to stare longingly up at the television, before saying in a normal tone as he slid sideways out of the booth seat, “Hey, I’m gonna grab some more drinks. Oh, and look, Bert’s back! Hey Bert, what took you so long, did you fall in?” Eren didn’t react when Mikasa reached out to poke him in the back, goaded to do so by Armin. He might have already had a bit too much to drink, in celebration of Armin’s “reentry into society,” as he called it.

“I-I…no?” was Bert’s shy response.

“Ignore him,” Mikasa said, patting the seat Eren had just vacated. Almost reluctantly, as if he’d rather have run out of the bar, Bert slipped in next to her. Reiner was on the other side of the little semi-circle booth they’d chosen, close to the bar, practically leaning out of his seat as he clapped at what must have been a good play.

As the game went to commercial yet again, Reiner finally turned back to face the rest of the table, looking surprised to see Eren had gone. “You’re really quiet tonight, Bert,” he said, sounding more than a little drunk himself.

“Oh, well…” Bert began, but his friend waved him off.

“I know, I know,” Reiner said, “You don’t need to give a reason, you’re just quiet.” There wasn’t a hint of condescension in his tone—just the type of understanding that came with friendship. Then, “What about you, Armin? You haven’t said much.”

“I have,” Armin said primly as he reached for his drink—a peach iced tea with vodka, but honestly more tea than alcohol. He wasn’t about to get wasted and riddle the evening with silly jokes. “ _We’ve_ all been talking, but you and Eren were too busy yelling at the TV to notice.”

“Oh,” Reiner said, chuckling as his expression became sheepish, “Yeah. I do that. Right Bertl?”

“You’re actually not as loud tonight as you usually are,” Bert mumbled, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced down at the floor.

“See?” Reiner said, “Not as loud as usual. That’s a noteworthy accomplishment for the evening.”

Armin opened his mouth to ask him something—how long he and Bert had been friends, even though he already knew the answer—but Eren chose that moment to return and clunk several bottles of beer down on the table. “You’re welcome,” he said, scooting in next to Reiner so that Armin was effectively squished between the much larger man, and Mikasa. Reiner was a big guy in his own right, but he seemed even bigger when Armin was shoved up against him. He apologized, looking slightly embarrassed by their sudden nearness. So far Armin could see plenty of reasons why Bert liked him. He was built like a football player, big and burly, with short-buzzed hair and an overall friendly demeanor. Sitting between him and Mikasa was like sitting between a bear and a panther, albeit pleasant ones.

In spite of Eren’s interruption—or maybe because of it—they finally were able to turn their attention away from the game and strike up a group conversation. Bert was still mostly quiet, but he was participating, mostly when prompted to by Reiner or Armin, the latter of which kept shooting questions off at the both of them. He got them telling stories about each other, like the time Bert tried to ride his bike down a set of concrete stairs and fell and broke his leg, and Reiner piggy-backed him six blocks to the hospital, or the many times Reiner had gotten too drunk in college and Bert was the one who looked out for him.

“They remind me of us,” Eren said when Reiner got up to get the next round, and Bert went with him. “All three of us.” It was true, Armin knew, but the same could be said for any old circle of friends. They were tied together for life by all the things they’d been through. Armin just hoped Bert could have the life he wanted at the end of it all.

“Okay, before you two scoot back in here, let me out,” Armin said just as Bert and Reiner returned, “I gotta use the bathroom.” Eren let him out, and he skipped past Bert, giving him a bolstering pat on the back as he went. Tonight felt like it was going well. It was only just past eleven, so there was plenty of time for him to maneuver all the pieces until he could get Bert and Reiner alone and let them take care of the rest.

The bathroom was empty, thankfully. Armin hated men’s rooms at the best of times—they were almost always filthy in places like this, but this one wasn’t bad. At the very least, it smelled alright, which was saying something. With nobody else in there, he was able to go without worrying about people listening, which always bothered him more than usual when he’d been drinking.

As he pushed the bathroom door open, stepping back out into the dimly lit hall, he nearly ran right into the hulking form of Reiner. “Oh, hi,” he said brightly, as if they’d stumbled into each other at the supermarket rather than right outside the men’s room. Maybe he’d had more to drink than he thought, but he wasn’t drunk. Mikasa was their designated driver, and she’d promised to make sure he took it easy tonight. He didn’t want to wake up with a hangover, or wind up puking before the night was over.

“Hey. Fancy meeting you here,” Reiner said, voice slurring slightly, offering Armin a crooked smile.

Armin laughed as he took a step back and said, “Yeah, what a coincidence,” then, seizing upon the opportunity, “I’m glad we could do this tonight. Bert’s told me so much about you. He really admires you, y’know?”

“Oh, I know,” Reiner said, leaning against the wall as he folded beefy arms across his chest, “He’s told me about you, too. Says you’re really nice.”

“Well, I try,” Armin said, “Bert’s a sweet guy. He’s just so shy—he reminds me a lot of myself.”

“Really?” Reiner said, leaning forward, “You don’t seem so shy to me.”

“I—oh, well, I’m not as shy as I used to be,” Armin said, discomfited by his sudden proximity, “I grew out of it, mostly.”

“Yeah?” Reiner uncrossed his arms, pushing away from the wall as he seemed to crowd even closer to Armin, looming over him. “You know, you’re pretty cute.”

 _He’s drunk_ , Armin thought, stepping back and holding up his hands, only mildly alarmed. “Thanks,” he said uncertainly, glancing past Reiner, down the short hallway beyond, and the corner that separated them from full view of the rest of the bar. “Maybe we should get back to the others.”

“Why? I thought we were having fun back here?” Reiner’s hand came up and brushed at a stray strand of Armin’s hair—he looked shocked when Armin batted the hand away.

“What are you doing?” Armin demanded, annoyed. They were supposed to be here for Bert, not for _this_. “I have a boyfriend.” Reiner had to have known that. He _knew_ who Armin was, and drunk or no, Armin wasn’t going to just stand here and let him get away with this behavior. All he could think of was how upset Bert would be if he saw his best friend acting this way. Although, if Reiner was his best friend, he would have to have known how he behaved when he was drunk. Wouldn’t he?

“Oh, I know. That rich asshole. What’s he like in real life? Is he as much of a prick as he seems on TV?” Reiner asked, closer and closer, his breath hot and cloaked in fumes of alcohol.

“Don’t talk about—! What’s your problem? Bert said you—Don’t touch me!” Armin shoved away the hand that tried to settle on his waist. Feeling an increasing sense of panic, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being cornered, and saw the end of the hall was a good few feet away. When he faced forward again, he barely had a chance to react before he felt Reiner’s fingers roughly grasp his chin and tilt his head back at a painful angle.

“I’ve seen you on TV. You’re so smug. Both of you,” Reiner said, voice low and almost feral. Armin opened his mouth, a nasty retort prepared as he grabbed at Reiner’s wrist and tried to pull the offending hand away. His fingers worked fruitlessly, the larger man too strong, and the words died in his throat, replaced by a sense of dread. _I can’t get away_ , he thought wildly, Reiner’s grip just inches away from choking.

“Let go,” he whimpered, hating the fear he heard in his own voice. As if the sound of Armin’s voice was the catalyst he’d been waiting for, instead of letting go, Reiner chose that moment to yank him up and crush their mouths together.

Armin was so blindsided that for a moment he just stood there, feeling the foreign mouth on his, the tongue pushing in, the chapped lips, the bitter tang of beer. His head spun for a total of five seconds, and then instinct took over—a white-hot rage he couldn’t ever recall having felt before exploded through him. It crackled in his veins, propelled by fear and indignation, and he didn’t remember pushing Reiner away, but he heard the sound of skin against skin, and felt the sting in his fist and knew he must have hit the much larger man. It probably hadn’t hurt Reiner at all, but it must have made some sort of impact because suddenly he was free.

“How _dare_ you,” Armin said as he leaned against the wall for support, voice shaking, so furious it was barely recognizable as his own. “How—I was trying to _help_ you.” Reiner just stared at him, as though stunned that Armin had fought back. The younger man stepped to the side, skirting past him, and Reiner made no attempt to stop him. Down the hall he could hear the sounds of people talking, glasses clinking, somebody—Eren—shouting at the television. He moved woodenly, reaching the bar and slipping by, rounding the room so nobody would see him.

Outside, the air was cool, a perfect early spring night. Armin burst out the front door, jogging across the sidewalk and stopping at the curb, hand over his pounding heart as he gasped for air as if he’d just run a mile. _What just happened?_ he thought, his mind playing the scene over and over again against his will. He reached up to touch his jaw, feeling the ache there now, the crick in his neck from being manhandled, the pain in his hand from when it had impacted with Reiner’s face.

“Mr. Arlert?” somebody said to his right, and he jerked his head up, flinching away as he saw a man in a suit standing just a few feet away. Armin hadn’t heard his approach, which only served to unsettle him further. “Is everything alright, sir?”

After staring at him owlishly for a few seconds, Armin swallowed hard and somehow forced himself to speak. “You…you’re the bodyguard for tonight, right?” he asked, mouth dry, dry but tasting of beer that he hadn’t drunk. The man looked familiar, though Armin usually tried to ignore the security detail that followed him everywhere. He wished now that he hadn’t, that he’d paid closer attention, because this guy could have been anybody and he hadn’t even noticed him approaching.

“Yes, sir,” the man said, frowning. “Did something happen, Mr. Arlert? You look upset.”

“I’m…I’m…,” Armin felt his throat tightening, and steeled himself, gritting his teeth. “I’m...” He wanted to say he was fine, but he felt strangled, as if the word might erupt out of him in a wail.

“Sir?” the bodyguard said, reaching out as if to place a hand on Armin’s shoulder, jerking it back at the last second as Armin shrank away.

“Don’t touch me,” he said, voice thick as he stared at the ground, “Please, just don’t touch me right now.”

For a moment, the man just studied him, his scrutiny almost unbearable. Then, “I’m calling Mr. Smith,” he said, reaching into his pocket.

“No!” Armin gasped, standing bolt upright, “No, please. Don’t…don’t. Just…can you take me home?” His voice was small, almost a whisper, but suddenly sticking around here seemed intolerable, the whole place tainted when tonight was supposed to have been _good_. The guard hesitated, then withdrew his hand and nodded.

“Of course, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” Armin sniffled. The bodyguard said nothing to that, just held out an arm toward the black car parked at the end of the block. Wordlessly, Armin followed his directive, allowed the bodyguard to open the rear door for him, and slipped inside.

The ride home seemed to go on endlessly, and all during Armin kept feeling a hand on his chin, calloused and too strong, and chapped lips that weren’t his boyfriend’s, and he couldn’t get the taste of beer out of his mouth. When he asked, the bodyguard said he didn’t have any gum, and Armin requested that he turn on the radio. Desperately, he tried to listen to the words of some talk show, tried not to think. Thinking would make it worse—he needed Irwin, needed his steadfastness, or else he was going to dissolve, into what he didn’t know, but he knew it wouldn’t be good.

They stopped outside the building Armin called home, and he stared up at it, half-dreading what he was going to have to say. “You don’t have to—,” Armin said as the bodyguard climbed out of the car and opened the door for him again. He was escorted to the front doors of the building, the bodyguard refusing to let him walk the short distance alone. He paused in the doorway, the glass door held open by another man in a suit. “What’s your name?” he asked the bodyguard.

“Berner,” the man said tentatively, and Armin wondered if Irwin had instructed the man to remain as anonymous as possible. That would explain why this one was the first that had gotten close enough for him to speak to.

“Thank you, Berner,” he said. Then he was turning, hurrying into the building. Armin knew the moment he stepped through the penthouse door that Berner had called Irwin while he had been taking the elevator up to the top floor. His boyfriend was waiting for him in the front hall, and Armin couldn’t even be annoyed. He took one look at Irwin’s face, and flew into his arms.

A few minutes passed as he struggled not to break down, Irwin’s hands in his hair and rubbing circles on his back respectively. “What happened?” Irwin finally asked when the younger man couldn’t bring himself to speak, his voice as soft and comforting as always.

Armin stepped back, unable to meet his boyfriend’s eye, feeling his phone vibrating in his pocket—his friends, no doubt, wondering where he’d gone. He couldn’t bear the thought of telling them what had happened. They’d blame themselves for not protecting him. Just like Irwin would blame himself, but Armin _had_ to tell him. Had to, no matter how much it scared him.

“Somebody…kissed me.” He felt Irwin’s grip tighten on his shoulder ever so slightly, and then he was being guided, steered into the living room and onto the couch.

It wasn’t until they were both settled that Irwin spoke again. “Who?” he asked, expression full of discord, eyes full of love.

“It was Bert’s friend,” Armin said, tone stilted, every word pushed out of his mouth by force of will.

Several seconds ticked by, tense and silent, unbearable. “I’ll kill him,” Irwin said, shattering the quiet, and Armin wasn’t surprised to see the dark fury twisting into the handsome lines of his face.

The younger man just shook his head, nonplussed, disgusted and tired. “He…I just don’t understand. He knew…He _knew_ who I was. He knew about you. Why…why would he do that? Why would he…”

“I don’t know,” Irwin said, tone soft, wrath retreating but not disappearing completely. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” Armin said, reaching up to rub his jaw. The pain had faded, though he still felt the grip, the fingers digging into his flesh. He wondered if those big hands would leave a bruise. “He seemed angry. I don’t know why. I don’t understand. Just…why would he do that, Irwin?” he asked, the question suddenly all important. “He was so nice all night, and then he just…Why would he do that? I can still feel—,” He pressed his hand over his mouth, feeling dizzy.

“Oh, Armin,” Irwin said, and then he was gathering Armin up into his arms, pulling him against his chest. “I’ll call the police, and we’ll file a report against him,” he said

“No!” Armin said fervently, “No…he’s…he’s Bert’s _friend_.” It still seemed unreal. Bert was sweet, and his friend was supposed to be just as sweet. _How could he? Why? Why? Why?_

“I don’t care who he is. He put his _hands_ on you,” Irwin said, voice breaking, sounding beyond distraught and not like himself, as if seeing Armin liked this caused him untold quantities of pain. That was what finally did it. Armin felt the fear and anger building up, and couldn’t hold it in anymore—he broke down, first in a whimper, then he started sobbing like he hadn’t in months. Crying the way that he hated to, letting Irwin see him like this, like some broken thing, _weak_ —

Irwin just let him cry, held him, rubbed his back, his arms the safest place, the _only_ safe place left it seemed. He made soothing noises, but didn’t speak, didn’t tell Armin that everything would be okay, or offer any other similarly useless platitudes. That wasn’t what Armin needed, and he seemed to know it. Of course he knew it. Not a word was spoken until Armin sat up, turning away to wipe his sleeve over his eyes, sniffing shamefacedly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, feeling slightly more coherent now that he wasn’t fighting not to lose it.

“You don’t have anything to be sorry about,” Irwin said sternly. “Now I’m going to call the police, and then I’ll make you something hot to drink.”

“Wait, Irwin,” Armin pleaded, gripping his boyfriend’s arm before he could stand, “Please don’t.”

“Armin—,”

“Just please, don’t!” he half-shouted.

Irwin’s eyes widened slightly at the outburst, then he leaned back and asked, “Why?”

“Because I can’t take it,” Armin said, voice creaking, “I can’t. I can’t take anymore legal drama, or reporters. I just _can’t_. It’s too much.”

“So you just want to let him get away with it?” Irwin asked, looking just about as helpless as Armin had ever seen him.

“No. I’ll…I’ll talk to Bert. I’ll tell him what happened. And…I don’t know. I don’t…I don’t _know_ how to deal with this stuff, Irwin! God, I just want things to go back to normal!” He felt his eyes begin to well again, and buried his face in his hands with a noise of disgust. “Why do people think they can just keep hurting me? Am I that bad a person?”

“No,” Irwin said, clearly fighting to remain calm and comforting, “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met.”

“So, why?” Armin asked, looking back up at him, eyes feeling swollen, red, “Why do people think they can touch me, and try to scare me, and…You know it was Dawk who made me cry on New Year’s.” Irwin stiffened beside him, and Armin wished he hadn’t said anything. It had just fallen out of his mouth, and now his big mouth was going to cause Irwin more trouble. But he was just so sick of all these people, all these _disgusting_ people who touched him, and stalked him, and tried to hurt his boyfriend. All he wanted was to be happy, to have a normal life with Irwin, but then something like this had to go and happen, _again_.

“What did he do to you?” Irwin asked, and Armin sighed and leaned against him.

“He just cornered me and tried to intimidate me. He said something about how I was trash, and you’d get sick of me, but he just made me mad. God, I just—,” he shuddered, and pressed himself closer to his boyfriend, “—I _hate_ when people touch me.”

“I know you do,” Irwin said, “You always tell me not to touch you when you’re angry with me. I promise I won’t anymore. And I also promise that first thing Monday morning, I’m telling Dawk to clean out his office. I don’t care about procedure anymore. I’d fire Bert as well, but I know you’re going to object to it.”

“It wasn’t Bert’s fault,” Armin murmured. “Reiner just…I don’t know. He said some…not very nice things. It was like he _hated_ us for some reason. I don’t know if it was because he was drunk, or what.” The thought that Reiner didn’t like him hurt, especially since he’d spent much of the night acting nice, right up until…well. It hurt, and it confused him, and filled him with an overwhelming feeling of melancholy, because it just didn’t make any _sense_. Had he been sitting there next to Armin, hating him the entire night, wishing he could do something about it? Just thinking about it made him shudder.

“A person’s true self is often revealed when they’re inebriated. Which frankly says a lot about _you_.” The last sentence startled a laugh out of Armin, and he sat up so he could give his boyfriend a grateful kiss on the cheek.

Then his smile faded, and he rested his chin on Irwin’s shoulder. “You know nothing could ever make me leave you, right?” he asked.

“What makes you say that?” Irwin asked, his voice still carrying a touch of concern.

“I don’t know. In case you were worrying that I’d get sick of it all and decide you weren’t worth it,” Armin murmured. It scared him to think that Irwin might feel that way, feel like Armin would ever stop wanting him. Even if it wasn’t true, if it was all in his mind, the very thought of Irwin feeling insecure made his stomach hurt.

“The only one I’m worried about is you,” Irwin assured him, strong arms circling around him to keep him close. “I know you’re prone to overthinking things, and I can be too, but I’ve never worried for a second that you’d blame me for any of this. Even if I blame myself, I know you wouldn’t.”

“Don’t say that,” Armin whispered, “You told me not to blame myself, so you’re not allowed to either. It’s all these people who want to hurt us for whatever reason. They’re the ones at fault.” And he would figure out a way to hurt Reiner for what he’d done tonight. Armin could still feel the hand on his chin, and the invading mouth—he sat up, suppressing another shudder as he got to his feet. “I’m going to take a shower and brush my teeth,” he announced.

“Of course,” Irwin said, staying where he was. He sat forward, expression becoming pensive as he steepled his fingers and stared down at the carpet.

“Come with me,” Armin said, pausing before the hallway to wait for him. He didn’t want to be by himself, even for just a few minutes. He wanted Irwin with him, wanted him there to help keep it all at bay, to erase what had happened tonight. And it wouldn’t be good for Irwin to sit by himself, ruminating, coming up with more things to worry about, or plotting Reiner and Nile Dawk’s murders.

 _I’m going to deal with this myself for once_ , he thought as Irwin joined him. He’d confront Bert about it, and if Bert tried to defend his friend, or excuse his actions, then…then he’d figure that out when the time came. He wouldn’t ask Irwin to fire him, but he also wouldn’t continue being Bert’s friend. How could Bert have not known about this side of somebody he was so close to? Armin almost felt betrayed. There had been no warning, nothing to indicate that Reiner would be so…gross. He still couldn’t fathom why Reiner would disparage Armin, and then kiss him. Maybe it was some sick display of jealousy, or it had been done just to scare him.

“Hey,” Irwin said, nudging him, and he realized they were still standing in the mouth of the hallway. Armin had taken his hand, and was squeezing it, probably too hard. “I want to ask if you’re okay, but I feel like it would be a silly question.”

“I’ll be alright,” Armin said with a little sigh. “I just…I’m just angry, and confused. And sad. I wanted…I just wanted tonight to be normal. I didn’t realize how desperate I was for that until, well…”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I’m so sorry.” Irwin hugged him again, and Armin felt another wave of sadness, though this time he didn’t give into it. He just felt tired. So tired. He was exhausted, and he didn’t think he could take anymore bullshit, but he knew Irwin would be there for him no matter what happened. _We’ll take care of each other_ , he thought. _Because that’s what you do when you’re in love_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. I feel really bad now. It's still gonna get worse, too. (The kiss is as far as I'm going to take things in terms of sexual assault, so there won't be anything worse than that.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahahah haha aha ha

 

                There were few things Irwin had done in his adult life that had been as satisfying as firing Nile Dawk. Deciding to take a chance with Armin certainly outranked this moment—Armin’s love brought him peace, and meant everything to him, but firing Dawk gave him a distinct sense of vindictive gratification. It wasn’t a wholly good feeling, but after everything he and Armin had been through, it was certainly a relief to watch Dawk storm out of the building in a tizzy.

“Even when he’s angry he’s dull,” Levi said when the door to Irwin’s office slammed shut behind the now-unemployed financial officer. Dawk had treated Irwin a rather typical barrage of insults, saying things like, “how dare you,” and “you’ll regret this,” all with pulsing forehead veins and protuberant eyes.

“At least it’s done,” Irwin said. The board of directors was slowly trickling out as well, with far less grumbling. Dallis would be the last to go—the way he clung to his position was pathetic rather than tenacious, the latter being how he probably imagined himself. Honestly, Irwin was still on the fence as to whether he should actually force the old fool out. Replacing all the other board members with Irwin’s own people was a given, but wouldn’t it rankle Zacklay even more to be surrounded by people who didn’t agree with and were not afraid of him?

“You could have gloated more, at least,” Levi said. “I’d have gloated more.”

“You’d also have tried to make him cry, or attack you, just so you could have him arrested,” Irwin pointed out, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling. A weight had lifted from him, though he still wasn’t entirely unburdened.

Levi shook his head, and muttered something about “lost opportunities,” then said he had his own work to get back to now that the excitement was over. Irwin waved him away, and the COO left, letting the door shut lightly behind him.

Barely a minute had passed before Irwin heard somebody knocking, and he sat up, straightening his tie as he called out for the knocker to enter. There was only one person who ever knocked—the rest were either Levi, who just came barging in, or were announced over the intercom—so he wasn’t surprised when Bertholdt came slinking through the door. That morning he’d actually been early, there before Irwin even, though he hadn’t looked up at his boss when the CEO had walked past his desk.

“Bertholdt,” he said evenly, trying not to let his continued ire show. “What is it?”

To his credit, the young man paled, and looked very near to being sick. “I just…I’m sorry, sir,” he said, swallowing hard, voice just above a whisper, “I know it’s not my business but…is Armin okay?”

“What do you think?” Irwin asked him flatly.

“I—,” the boy faltered, wringing his hands as he broke out into a nervous sweat, “I don’t know. I…I’m not sure what happened. Rei—my friend won’t tell me. And Armin won’t answer my messages. I’m just…I just want to make sure he’s okay.”

Irwin had to close his eyes for a moment and inhale deeply through his nose before he was able to speak again. “It’s not really my place to tell you, Bertholdt. But I’ll inform him of your concern.” He turned to his computer and began checking his business email. After a few long seconds, he heard the door shut again, and when he looked up Bertholdt was gone.

Releasing a shaky breath, Irwin reached out impulsively to check his phone. There were no messages from Armin, though he hadn’t really been expecting one. Knowing his boyfriend, the younger man was still in bed anyway. He’d barely stirred that morning as Irwin was getting ready, which was unusual. He usually woke up just enough to kiss the older man goodbye, and after the last two weeks Irwin had been half-expecting Armin to get up and get ready with him.

Armin had barely roused himself all weekend, as a matter of fact. He’d wrapped himself in a blanket whenever he had to get out of bed, and he’d spent much of his time lying on the couch watching Netflix. Irwin had abandoned the thought of getting any work done, and had joined him, keeping the younger man company through his current funk. That much Armin had seemed to appreciate, though they hadn’t spoken much. Not about what had happened, at least. At one point Armin had stretched out across Irwin’s lap and asked him in a very serious tone who his favorite Disney princess was. When Irwin hadn’t been able to name any one of them, Armin had forced him to watch nearly every princess movie in succession until he could give a satisfactory answer.

“Rapunzel is such a safe choice,” he’d muttered, though he’d relented after that.

Now that the business with Dawk was out of the way, Irwin was considering leaving work early. With Armin having been with him constantly for two weeks, only to suddenly not have him there, he felt rather justifiably worried. Armin didn’t normally shy away from anything, unless that thing happened to be socially challenging. One time he’d seen his ex-boyfriend while he and Irwin had been out having dinner, and he’d slipped down so far in his seat that he’d practically been underneath the table. “Oh my God, tell me he didn’t see me!” he’d whined while Irwin had tried very hard not to laugh. Jean had been across the street and hadn’t even looked their way, not that he could have seen them through the tinted restaurant windows. At least Irwin finally had a face to put to the name, though he couldn’t envision a scenario where that would matter. He had no intention of ever meeting Jean Kirschtein face to face.

By mid-afternoon Irwin decided that he’d completed a sufficient amount of work for the day. He’d taken several long-winded calls from business partners and employees. Hanji had also called to tell him that Nile Dawk’s lawyer had already contacted her, and that she’d basically laughed him off the phone. “Can you imagine living with that much arrogance?” she’d said, “How does he fit through doors with an ego that big?” Irwin had told Dawk precisely why he was being fired. He’d said he suspected him of being involved in the plot against himself and Levi, but he’d also told him the primary reason was that Dawk had laid his hands on Armin.

“I’m leaving for the day, Bertholdt,” he told the young man, who continued to look sick and distraught. He didn’t receive an answer other than a guilt-ridden nod, which gave Irwin the first twinges of pity he’d ever felt for Bertholdt. He couldn’t be that visibly upset about the whole thing without actually being concerned.

When Irwin got home, he found Armin curled up on the far end of the couch, reading a small, blue booklet which the younger man quickly clutched to his chest. “You’re home early,” he squeaked as Irwin approached, dropping his briefcase on the coffee table next to a pile of mail. Armin must have gone downstairs to retrieve it, which was a bit of a relief. At least he’d been up and about to some degree today.

“What are you reading?” Irwin asked as he leaned over Armin, kissing him in greeting before settling down next to him.

“Nothing,” Armin lied, hands splayed over the book so that Irwin couldn’t see. The older man arched a brow at him, and Armin sighed, rolling his eyes with an annoyed, “Fine.” He held out the booklet for Irwin to see, and he made a noise of interest as he read the cover.

“University of Sina, huh?” he asked, and Armin looked pointedly away from him. “What’s wrong?”

“I know it’s just a crappy state school, but I was going there before…well, I went there for a while, and I had to drop out,” he said defensively.

“For your information, I have plenty of people working for me who went to this school,” Irwin said, flapping the booklet for emphasis, “Levi, for example.”

Armin looked back at him, eyes narrowed. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, it’s true. Why did you have to drop out?” Irwin asked.

“…Money,” Armin mumbled almost inaudibly as he looked down at his lap. “I didn’t have enough, so they would have kicked me out sooner or later. And that pamphlet got forwarded to me from my old address, so it’s not like I was looking for information about it or anything…”

“Do you want to go back?” Irwin asked. Armin’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “What? I think it would be a good idea.”

“I…I don’t know,” Armin said, plucking at a button on Irwin’s blazer, “I haven’t been in school in so long.”

“You’re twenty-three. It’s not like you’re old and set in your ways,” Irwin said. “What were you studying before?”

“I hadn’t picked a major yet,” Armin admitted, “so a little of everything. I really liked this biology course I was taking when I had to quit, though. Not so much the cellular stuff—I mean, I understood it all, but I was more into the ecosystem side.” He bit his lip, getting that look in his eyes that he usually did before launching into one of his impassioned speeches. “I had this dream that I’d become a biologist, and I’d get to travel the world like those people on National Geographic. Trekking through jungles, and seeing gorillas, and tigers, and studying endangered species. I mean, I thought about that kind of thing when I was a kid when I’d watch Jack Hannah or the Crocodile Hunter, but then when I was finally in school it seemed like an actual possibility. And then…well. You know.” The enthusiasm faded and he reached for the university booklet, a wistful look on his face.

“I’d pay for you to go back, if you want,” Irwin said.

“I knew you’d say that,” Armin muttered.

“I mean it. If you wanted it, I’d pay for every cent. Anything you need, Armin,” he said. When Armin didn’t answer, he gave the younger man a little nudge and said, “Think about it at least. Please?”

“All right,” Armin sighed. Then, “Did you see Bert today?” He failed tremendously at speaking casually, a little tremor running through his voice as he spoke.

“I did. He asked how you were, and seemed on the verge of fainting. He told me he doesn’t know what happened.” Armin scoffed, and Irwin reached out to pull him close. “I think he was being sincere, for what it’s worth. You said you wanted to talk to him about this, so I’ll stay out of it. I’m just telling you what I saw.”

Armin had been tense for most of the weekend, but he seemed to soften a little in Irwin’s arms. “I…I’ll ask him to meet with me tomorrow, during the day. You can live without your assistant for a day, right?” he asked.

“I can. Do you want me to be there?” He knew what the answer would be, but he had to at least offer.

“No. Just the usual bodyguard will be fine,” Armin said without sounding bitter. Irwin felt one of Armin’s hands circling around the back of his neck, fingers scratching through the short hair there, then the younger man was leaning his head back, lips parted invitingly. Not one to ignore such a blatant invitation, Irwin bent to kiss him, and Armin responded with zeal. This was the first time since Friday night that he’d seemed to want to be touched, and that night had left Irwin feeling distinctly unsettled. He’d known what Armin was doing, using him to try and erase what that thug had done, and it had just left him worried and afraid for the younger man.

This time Armin’s need seemed genuine. There was none of the desperation Irwin had sensed the other night, not the same kind anyway. Armin kissed him with his unique fervor, biting Irwin’s bottom lip, and greedily sucking on his tongue with soft little noises that made the older man’s groin tighten uncomfortably inside his slacks. It didn’t help that a moment later Armin’s hand was sliding across his crotch, squeezing his growing erection with sadistic glee.

With a growl, Irwin bent his head and latched his mouth against a throbbing vein in Armin’s neck. “Oh, come on,” Armin muttered without conviction as Irwin sucked and nipped, leaving a bright red welt that stood out like a flare against Armin’s pale pink skin.

“Maybe that will remind people of who they’re dealing with when they try to hurt you,” Irwin whispered against his throat. He felt Armin’s hands still, and for a moment he thought he might have killed the mood.

“Jesus, can you not?” Armin whispered, “Ugh, that’s just so…Thinking of people seeing hickeys on me, and realizing you left them there and that you’ll fucking destroy them…I mean, jeez Irwin.” By the end of the last sentence the younger man was practically shaking with lust, his eyes dilated to the point where the irises where just thin blue rings. “Bite me everywhere,” he pleaded, “My mouth, my body, _please_ baby.”

The look on his face nearly sent Irwin over the edge, and he was more than happy to oblige. He left a trail of bruising kisses, any guilt he might have had over the pain he caused completely erased by Armin’s sobs of pleasure. “I’m beginning to think you enjoy pain rather than just ignore it,” Irwin said after biting Armin’s lip hard enough to leave a blood blister. His mouth was swollen already, but the little red spot would remain for days. It would be there tomorrow when he talked to Bertholdt, as well as the marks on his neck.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Armin insisted, panting and flushed, “Just please, don’t stop!” Irwin just smirked, and pushed Armin’s shirt up, nipping at his collar bone and all down his chest and stomach. The body beneath him writhed, Armin rolling up to try to urge him to go faster, but Irwin took his time, making sure every inch of flesh received attention from either his mouth or his hands. “Oh God, you’re evil. Just suck my dick, baby. I’m going to come in my pants if you don’t—,” he cut off with a sharp cry when Irwin slipped down and mouthed him through his shorts. He didn’t make any move to unzip them, and Armin arched up into his touch, whining and moaning as Irwin palmed and gently pressed his teeth into the bulge there. That seemed to be Armin’s undoing. He tensed, head falling back as he came soundlessly. Irwin massaged him through it, until he began to feel dampness through the denim fabric.

“How was that?” he asked teasingly as Armin panted beneath him.

“Gross, you…made me jizz my pants. Ew. I’m—,” he reached up to push Irwin back, and sat up with a grimace. “You’re terrible. You could have swallowed that.”

“I could have,” Irwin agreed, “but you seemed to enjoy it regardless.” Armin gave him a disgusted look, but he couldn’t hide his red cheeks, or the glazed-over satisfaction in his eyes.

“Well, now I have to shower, and you’re coming with me,” he said, pushing his leg up against the still-throbbing bulge in Irwin’s pants. “I should leave you with that, you mean old man.”

“I love you, too,” Irwin said, amused and relieved. For now, Armin seemed to feeling better, which was another weight off his shoulders. He just hoped it lasted this time.

“Hush,” Armin said. “Your love can’t save you now.”

X

“I still think Eren or I should be there,” Mikasa said, her tone conveying concern even over the phone. “After what happened last time, I really don’t think you should even bother with this guy.”

“Bert’s not the one that kissed me,” Armin said to her as he attempted to avoid colliding with another pedestrian.

“I wish you’d told us about it when it happened,” his friend sighed. He could picture her in her comfy office, wearing one of her swanky new power suits as she frowned at her computer.

“Why, so you and Eren could be arrested for homicide?” Armin scoffed, “Don’t worry, I punched him in the face.”

“It’s not as much as he deserves,” Mikasa said staunchly. “You know, Eren’s school building isn’t too far from where you are.”

“ _Don’t_ call him,” Armin said, “Just don’t, Mikasa. Please. Remember the first time he met Jean and hit him in the throat because Jean said that he thought I was hot?” Armin could hear her murmuring under her breath, though he couldn’t make out what she was saying. She sounded resigned at least. “Don’t worry. This hopefully won’t take long, and I’ll call you right after.”

“Right after you call Irwin, you mean?” she said, and he couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or not.

“Right,” he agreed, a little smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Believe me, he’s just as bad as you guys are with treating me like I can’t handle myself.”

“Nobody said you can’t handle yourself,” Mikasa said, “You just had the misfortune of making incredibly protective friends.”

“Yeah, well,” Armin said, tossing an as-casual-as-possible glance over his shoulder as he made his way down the sidewalk, “It’s not like I’m alone out here anyway.”

“I still think it’s sort of creepy that you have to be followed everywhere,” Mikasa sighed.

Berner was about a block behind him, doing a much better job than Armin was of appearing nonchalant. The bodyguard wore a nondescript suit, and mixed in well with all the other business-people striding purposely down the avenue. A thought occurred to Armin, and he suddenly began to wonder if Berner carried a gun. He sincerely hoped not. He didn’t want to see what might happen if his human shadow had to actually defend him from somebody. It also made him wonder what sort of orders Irwin might have given him. How far would his boyfriend be willing to let Berner go to protect Armin?

_It won’t come to that,_ he thought. There had been no sign of his stalker since the day he’d walked Romulus while Irwin was in Germany. Maybe the guy had taken the hint.

“It’s not that big a deal, Mikasa,” Armin insisted in spite of his worries.

“Sure it’s not,” she agreed, sounding less than convinced. “I have to go. The boss is wandering around, lording his undeserved position of power over us.”

“Okay. Talk to you later.” Mikasa made some noncommittal noise before hanging up. Sometimes she could be very unsentimental about little things like that, but it never detracted from the fact that she cared. Armin just sincerely hoped that she didn’t send Eren to spy on him. One bodyguard was enough, not to mention the fact that Eren could never quite figure out the definition of “surreptitious.”

Armin had texted Bertholdt that morning to meet him at the little café where he and Irwin had first sat together drinking coffee just over eight months ago. It was surreal to think about their relationship in terms of time. Most times Armin still felt like they’d known each other for far longer.

Part of him wished he’d asked Bertholdt to go somewhere else. He always wanted this place to be for Irwin and himself, but it was the closest restaurant to Titan Enterprises that they both knew of. Hopefully this would go smoothly, though realistically he knew there was a slim chance of that. He took a deep breath to steady himself, trying not to let nerves overwhelm him. The prospect of talking to Bert flooded him with anxiety, but he could do this. He _could_.

When he walked in, the purposely dim lighting made him squint, but he picked Bert out right away, hunched over a table near a window seat. Good. That meant the bodyguard could stay outside and watch them, rather than come in. Armin didn’t really feel like being eavesdropped on right now, unintentionally or no.

Bert looked up tentatively when Armin’s shadow fell over the table—he looked just how Irwin had described him. Sick with guilt. His skin was an unhealthy pallor, and there were dark circles underneath his eyes. Armin thought it strange that Bertholdt should be taking all of this so hard. Sure, he overthought things, and had anxiety on a level that Armin couldn’t comprehend, but this seemed excessive. He had to wonder if something else was going on, but he quashed down the instinct to ask Bertholdt if he was okay.

“Hi, Armin,” Bert said, still somehow gawky and tall even while sitting. His voice was reedy and whisper-soft, like someone who’d had a sore throat recently, or had perhaps been crying.

“Bert,” Armin said, sitting stiffly across from him. “Do you know why I wanted to talk to you?”

“I…I think so,” Bertholdt said, gripping the full mug of coffee he had in front of him. “I’m so sorry, Armin. Reiner…he wouldn’t tell me what happened, but I know he had to have…I don’t know. What did he do? Please…tell me.”

Even though he sounded like he didn’t want to know, Armin told him. He told him every detail, and Bertholdt seemed to wilt ever-so-slightly with each word, as if hearing these things about his best friend was cutting away pieces of him. By the time Armin finished speaking he looked like he might be physically ill, and he had to take a moment to collect himself, sipping at his coffee to soothe whatever emotions were building in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. “I…I don’t know w-why he’d...” He buried his face in his hands before he could finish. “I’m sorry, Armin. It all went so wrong. I didn’t mean for it to get this bad,” he half-sobbed. Something about the way he said the last sentence made it sound like there was more to it than he was letting on, but Armin again resisted the urge to ask. He found he really didn’t want to know.

“I just wanted to tell you what happened and see what you’d say,” Armin told Bert as he sniffled behind his hands. He tried to remain emotionless, keeping up a stoic façade as he watched the other young man try to rein himself in. It wasn’t as easy as Irwin made it look. “I don’t really know what to do now, or if we can still be friends. I’m not sure how I feel about it. You obviously don’t know as much about Reiner as you thought you did, but you’ve known him longer than you’ve known me, so it’s your business how you sort things out with him.”

Bertholdt lowered his hands and wiped at his eyes, nodding as he slumped back in his seat. “You know you’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met, Armin? I thought you’d hate me but…I understand if you need some time to think. And I’ll…I’ll figure out something with Reiner. I promise.” He spoke resolutely, an uncharacteristic determination settling in behind his reddened eyes.

Feeling the slightest bit relieved, Armin sighed and leaned forward. “Thanks for meeting with me, anyway. I’m glad…well, I’m glad I was able to go through with it. I almost said ‘screw it’ and stayed home.”

Bert offered him a weak smile at that, and said, “Me too. I mean, that you told me what happened. Reiner just came out of the bathroom, rubbing his face, and said he had to go. He rushed out of there pretty quickly, and he wouldn’t say where you were. He said he hadn’t seen you. Your friend Eren almost tackled him.”

Armin felt a swell of indignation at that, and it made him feel all the worse for simply leaving without telling anyone. His friends must have been so worried when they saw how Reiner was acting, and then couldn’t find Armin afterward. He wished that he hadn’t panicked so badly, but being cornered and manhandled like that…Just the thought of it made him feel trapped, and he began to fidget.

“I should go,” he said abruptly, sliding quickly out of his seat. He hadn’t even ordered anything, but he wasn’t in any mood to stick around. “I guess I’ll see you. I told Irwin not to fire you so…” he trailed off awkwardly, and before Bertholdt could say anything he turned to leave.

“Wait, Armin,” he heard Bert say behind him, but when he stopped and turned the other man just swallowed hard and shook his head. “Never mind,” he said. “I just…thank you for trying with me. Not a lot of people bother.”

Armin could only nod, fighting off a sudden surge of guilt that he knew he shouldn’t be feeling. He liked Bertholdt, he really did, but he couldn’t deal with this. There was too much between them right now for them to be friends, and he couldn’t hold out much hope for the future. He doubted Bertholdt would just sever all ties with Reiner after they’d known each other for so long. It made him wonder what he’d do if one of his friends got in trouble, though he couldn’t fathom either of them doing anything so disgusting. Eren had done plenty of stupid things, though, and Armin and Mikasa had always stood by him. _This isn’t the same_. Eren throwing a brick through the window of a teacher who got Mikasa suspended from school because her clothes were “too revealing” was completely different from a person forcing themselves on someone else.

Armin stepped out of the café into the cool spring air. Even with the barest touch of winter in the air, it was still almost too warm for the jacket he wore. It was the one Irwin had bought for him, and Armin intended to wear it as much as he could before he had to hang it up for summer. With the hefty price-tag most of the clothes Irwin had gifted to him, he had no choice but to make good use of them. His whole outfit today probably cost more than all the clothes he’d owned through his entire life.

Well, speaking of Irwin, it was only a ten minute walk back to his office. Armin pulled out his phone and started down the sidewalk, typing as he went. _Coming to see u_. Usually he dropped by unannounced, but he was sure Irwin would be expecting him today. He also knew his boyfriend would probably be waiting to hear from him, and he didn’t want to keep him in suspense.

Just as he hit send, he felt a tingle on the back of his neck, one he’d felt before. With a jolt, he looked up, spinning on the spot and nearly colliding with a jogger who shot him a dirty look before circling around. Beyond her though, he saw nothing unusual. Pedestrians wove together, none of them out of place. _You’re imagining things_ , he thought. Too much stress. Berner was lurking around somewhere, watching him. He was safe.

His phone vibrated in his hand, and he slowly turned back around, knowing that Irwin would be waiting. He only took two steps forward before he saw him—the stalker. Same jacket, hood up, same exact everything, standing there at the edge of the sidewalk. Armin felt the whole world freeze around him, felt his heart begin to pound as the stalker stared him down. The moment seemed to go on forever until someone brushed against his shoulder. Then the stalker calmly turned and disappeared into the mouth of an alleyway.

_Don’t follow him_ , Armin thought, alarm-bells screaming in his head. _Just go to Irwin. Go_.

Swallowing hard, he started forward. _Don’t even look down the alley. Just walk past_. Berner would take care of this. He had to have seen what had happened. Armin risked a look back over his shoulder but couldn’t see the man. Where was he?

In spite of himself, in spite of every instinct that told him not to, he paused at the mouth of the alleyway. Steeling himself, he glanced down and saw…nothing. There were trash cans and dumpsters, buzzing external air-conditioning units. No stalker, though he could have been hiding anywhere. Armin realized he was breathing hard, panting like he’d run a mile, and he tried to calm himself, tried to make his feet move, but then he saw something that made his stomach drop; sticking out from behind a dumpster were a pair of feet, feet wearing dress shoes, attached to legs in dark slacks.

He was moving before he could think, heart in his throat as he ran down the alley. _Oh please_ , he thought as he reached the dumpster, rounding it. It couldn’t be what he thought it was. It was impossible.

“Berner,” he gasped as he rounded the dumpster. He sat slumped against the building, and Armin dropped to his knees beside the bodyguard, scrabbling toward him. “Berner!” For a moment he forgot about everything else; the danger, the stalker, Irwin. “Berner!” He grabbed the bodyguard’s lapels and shook him. His head slumped to the side, and for a horrified second Armin thought he might be dead, but then he groaned. There were no signs of injury on him, but he had to have been hurt somehow.

Armin released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and with a start, realized he needed to call somebody. He reached for his phone, fumbling as he held it up, pressing his finger against the emergency call button.

Before it could connect, he felt somebody grab him roughly from behind. With a yelp, he was being yanked to his feet, his phone tumbling out of his grip and clattering against the ground. A pair of strong hands spun him around, and he found himself being slammed against a brick wall.

Teeth clacking in his mouth, he squirmed, fighting by instinct even as he blinked away the pain of his head colliding with cold brick. “Let go of me!” he snarled, but his feet were barely touching the ground. Then he saw who was holding him. “You!”

“Bertl talked about how smart you were,” Reiner said, “I couldn’t believe you didn’t recognize me.” He grunted when Armin kicked at him, clawing wildly at the hands that were too close to his throat. He felt Reiner’s thumbs shifting, pressing against his windpipe, and fought all the harder. “You have no idea what you’ve put me through.”

Fear and anger pounded through Armin’s head as he tried to pull Reiner’s hands away. He wasn’t pressing hard enough to cut off oxygen, but having such large hands there against his neck terrified him. “Why?” he gasped, pulse pounding so hard in his head it was making him dizzy.

“You don’t even know. That’s the worst part,” Reiner said. He was making no sense. Armin couldn’t think of anything he could have done to enrage anybody to this length. Well, aside from a few select people on Irwin’s board of directors. Why would somebody he’d only met once stalk him, terrify him, and assault him twice?

“Reiner!” a voice shouted, and the grip tightened. Armin felt his eyes bugging, and he gasped for air, barely pulling in a breath. “Reiner, stop it!” Berthold said as he reached them, grabbing his friend’s shoulder. “Stop it! What are you doing?!”

“What does it look like?” Reiner snapped back at him. Armin curled his fingers under Reiner’s, wishing he hadn’t cut his nails so short as his vision swam. The hands didn’t loosen, and his lungs began to ache for air.

“Let go of him!” Bertholdt hissed, looking back down the alley. Someone would see. Someone would have to see, but they were partially obscured here. The dumpster was in the way, and people had a tendency to keep their eyes forward. Armin could already feel his limbs growing weak—he knew it only took two or three minutes for somebody to die of oxygen deprivation, and less if they struggled. How long had it been already?

Reiner and Bertholdt stared at each other for a long moment, Bertholdt’s eyes wild and pleading, and Reiner’s cold but wavering. The world began to go dark around the edges, spinning, but then Armin felt the grip on his throat loosen and a second later he was on the ground, coughing and sputtering next to Berner’s prone form.

“Reiner please, don’t do this,” Bertholdt was saying above him, but he could barely make sense of it. All he could think of was getting away, though his whole body tingled from lack of oxygen, his throat and lungs burning as he tried to inch away from them. There was no way to escape, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying.

“Bertl, we have to. It’s the only way we can get her back.”

“Do you really think this is going to help?!” Bertholdt demanded, sounding panicked and terrified. “It’ll just make things worse!”

“We have to try!”

“No!”

“Dammit, Bertl!” Reiner snapped, and Armin felt a hand roughly grasp his shoulder. “We don’t have a choice! You think I want to do this? You think I like being this angry?”

Armin looked up, saw Bertholdt’s face contorted, eyes watery. They were staring at each other again, communicating in that silent way only two people who deeply understood one-another could. “Let’s just go,” he whispered like his words were a last resort. “We can go. We’ll figure something else out, just please…don’t do this.”

For a moment, Armin almost thought Reiner would listen. His expression softened as he looked at his friend, but then he was shaking his head. Armin tried to pull away, but the grip tightened on his arm, and then Reiner was reaching into his pocket. A powerful chemical smell hit Armin’s nose just before the rag was pressed over his mouth, and then it all went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahaheha heehhh (hopes this isn't getting too dramatic to be believable lol)
> 
> This is gonna be the longest installment yet. Next chapter is either gonna be hella long, or I'm gonna have to split it in two. 
> 
> Also, literally the only reason I was able to get this done in a relatively timely manner is because I know people were waiting for it. Really, the whole reason this story has lasted so long is because of you guys. (also sorry for tormenting armin, i'm so cruel to him but i love him.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After all my whining about how long it was gonna turn out, this chapter is actually not wicked long because I’m splitting it apart from next chapter. Idek if next chapter will be the last one (for this installment), there’s a ton more I feel like I need to add Dx. This story is a frickin freight train sometimes.

Bertholdt felt ill. All of his life had been a struggle with anxiety in one form or another, but this ominous horror was something on a whole different level. A groan bubbled up unbidden from his throat as he pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, seeing bright spots in the resultant darkness as he leaned forward as far as the dashboard would allow.

“Bertl, I need you to relax,” Reiner said from the driver’s seat, all too calm. Eerily so. This wasn’t like the Reiner Bertholdt knew at all. In fact, Reiner hadn’t quite been himself for a while now, but Bert had never thought he’d really go this far. A part of him had thought it was all just talk, but apparently he’d been horribly, horribly wrong.

“I don’t know how you can say that,” Bert said, his voice sounding much higher than normal, brittle even. “This is the worst thing we’ve ever done. We’re going to go to _jail_.” He moaned this last pair despairingly, fighting back the bile that threatened to rise with the sound.

“We’re not,” Reiner said, trying to sound soothing, and Bertholdt felt something snap inside of him, some fragile mental tether that had slowly been abrading the last few months.

“We are, Reiner!” he said in a half-shout, sitting up straight and staring wildly and imploringly at his best friend. Reiner only gave him a short, side-eyed look before turning his attention back to the road, as if Bert were the one being unreasonable here. There were so many cars around them. So many people. They were on a main street in the more rundown side of town, but there were _still_ people everywhere. Anybody could look up and see them. They could walk near the car and see Armin sprawled, unconscious across the back seat, and nothing would stop them from wondering why he was there. It had taken Bertholdt five minutes of hysterical pleading to keep Reiner from putting him in the trunk.

Slowly, almost unwillingly, Bert glanced out of the corner of his eye, and saw Armin there—just his midsection, but it was enough to make him feel again that he was going to be sick. “Let’s just let him go,” he croaked out.

“We can’t, Bertl. How many times do we have to go over this? We _need_ him. We aren’t going to hurt him, but we can’t just let him go,” Reiner said irately. “I mean, he knows who we are. His disgusting sugar-daddy would have us _killed_.”

“Don’t you think he will anyway?” Bert asked agitatedly, “As soon as it’s all over, he’ll hunt us down and—and—!”

“We’ll disappear right after. Do you think I don’t have this planned out?” Reiner asked, a question Bert almost found laughable.

“No,” Bert muttered, “I know you do, and that’s what scares me.” Reiner just scoffed, again behaving like Bert was making a bigger deal out of this than it was. He was acting like they didn’t have a chloroformed kid in the back seat. Reiner hadn’t even tied him up, though he seemed pretty confident that Armin wouldn’t be waking up any time soon. And there was a witness! That bodyguard. Reiner was pretty sure the guy hadn’t gotten a good look at him before he’d used the same chemical-soaked rag on him as he’d used on Armin. Still…

Reiner didn’t know Irwin Smith. Bertholdt supposed he didn’t really either, but he did know that Irwin Smith was terrifying. Irwin Smith was going to kill both of them. And Armin would probably let him do it. He’d probably watch and cheer him on. Or stand there coldly, watching as Mr. Smith dug the heel of his freshly shined designer shoe into Bert’s delicate windpipe. Just the thought of it had him swallowing hard and circling his throat with a sweaty hand.

What would Reiner do if he bailed out of the car, he wondered. Every few blocks they stopped at a red light, and he could easily jump out and make a run for it. His hand twitched on his knee, and he eyed the door handle, and for a second he almost did it. If he got out of the car, he could call the cops and put an end to all this before Reiner did something even more stupid.

But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He dug his fingers into the fabric of his jeans until he was sure the skin underneath would be bruised. No matter what Reiner did, he was still Reiner, and Bertholdt owed him everything. All he could do was try to intervene, try to make sure Reiner kept his word that Armin wouldn’t be hurt, and maybe they wouldn’t end up dead or in jail at the end of all this.

“You’re still worrying,” Reiner said, and Bert snapped his head up. His bottom lip felt raw, and he realized he’d been worrying it between his teeth.

“Sorry.”

“Just remember why we’re doing this, Bertl,” Reiner said gently, almost sounding like the real him for a moment. “You do remember, right?”

“Yeah, I do,” Bert mumbled. How could he forget? More importantly, how could he make Armin understand? He glanced back at the prone body in the backseat again, and tried to steel himself. _I just want it to be over_ , he thought. One way or another, when all was said and done, it would be.

X

Moblit Berner stirred, head spinning, thoughts cloudy—for all of three seconds at least. Then he was moving, or trying to. His limbs didn’t want to obey, but he made them, forcing them into action as he dragged himself up from the cold, dirty concrete. Behind him was dingy brick, and to his right a rusty dumpster.

As he finally gained his feet, vision swimming, he scanned the alleyway, ignoring the way everything seemed to move around him in uncomfortable swirls. Somebody had attacked him from behind, he remembered that much. He’d seen the stalker Armin Arlert had described, and followed him into an alleyway. Stupid of him, but he’d thought he could subdue the bastard on his own. Something smelling strongly of chemicals had assaulted his nose, and he’d fought back wildly, only to black out anyway.

Apparently, he hadn’t been out for long. The stalker must not have dosed him as thoroughly as he probably would have liked. From the far end of the alley he heard a car roar to life—something with a bad engine, from the way it sputtered and the belts whined. He started that way, swaying, seeing an old brown vehicle, a Chevy maybe. Somebody was being loaded into the back seat, somebody limp with a mop of blond hair, and the person trying to shuffle them in there looked an awful lot like the boy Armin had met at that café. Mr. Smith had been reluctant to let him venture out on his own, but Moblit had assured the CEO that he could handle watching over him on such a short outing.

Moblit’s heart began to pound, and he reached under his sport coat and drew out his gun. Mr. Smith had been hesitant in allowing him to carry such a weapon, but Hanji Zoe had recommended Moblit to him and assured Mr. Smith that he was completely professional.

At that moment, it pained him to be professional. There was no way he could get a clear shot at the car, at the tall boy, not while he fought off dizziness, and not at this distance. Even the plate numbers swam before his eyes, but he thought he made out a few characters before the tall boy hurriedly slammed the rear door and climbed into the passenger seat. Moblit could only watch, stumbling against the wall as the car pulled away, turned the corner, and was gone.

Moblit swore under his breath, keeling forward and bracing a hand on his knee as he reholstered his gun. He couldn’t have risked discharging his weapon here and now. Yes, he had a license for it, of course, but if there was even the slightest chance he could hurt Armin he didn’t dare. That the person being placed in the back seat of that car was Armin he didn’t doubt for a second. There was no one else it could have been.

What surprised him was that the stalker and Mr. Smith’s assistant were working together on this. Moblit had met Bertholdt Hoover when he’d gone to meet with Mr. Smith about this bodyguard job. He’d seemed rather nebbish in Moblit’s opinion, nowhere near capable of something like this. Obviously, he should have paid closer attention.

As he tried to clear his head, he pulled out his phone. This was not going to be an easy call to make. He was sure he’d just lost his job, but that didn’t really matter. Protecting Armin extended now to finding out where he was, and informing Mr. Smith of what had happened. Every last part of it.

The phone rang only once before Irwin Smith answered. As if he already knew something was amiss, he immediately asked, “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry sir,” Moblit panted, nauseous from more than just being drugged, “I’ve lost him.”

X

A vague, cloying scent seemed to permeate Armin’s senses—it was strong, clinging to the insides of his sinuses and lingering in the back of his throat. The pervading aroma colluded with the discomfiting sandpapery dryness of his mouth, and the dull throbbing behind his eyes lent a very unpleasant feeling to everything, from his limbs, to his tongue, and the dim, sluggish formulation of his thoughts. For a while, every thought that slowly surfaced to the front of his mind quickly whispered away like smoke through his fingers. It would have been infuriating if he wasn’t submerged in that seemingly inescapable, sickly-sweet fog.

Aside from the way it ached, his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton-balls, both light and heavy all at once. Once his thoughts started to become slightly clearer, he also noted that he was desperately thirsty. For a few hazy minutes he just lay where he was, reluctant to move in spite of the way his throat burned. _Am I hung over?_ He couldn’t remember going out last night. No, the last time he’d gone out had been with Eren and Mikasa, when he’d met up with Bert and Reiner. That thought gave rise to a wave of unease, as he remembered the feeling of strange hands grabbing hold of him, and a foreign pair of lips pressed against his own.

With a groan, he opened his eyes, and brought a heavy hand up to his face as dim light lanced into his retinas. When he wincingly lowered his hand, the room swam around him, but he immediately knew he was in unfamiliar territory. For one, the room was small—far smaller than his and Irwin’s bedroom, smaller even than his room in his old apartment. The walls were a mealy beige, the paint obviously slathered on over several other thick layers of poor paintjobs. The furnishings in the room were meager as well—a chest of drawers against one wall, a nightstand, and the bed he was currently lying on.

As he sat up, the bedsprings screeched, the sound reverberating distressingly in the tiny room. Light streamed through the only window—it faced a brick wall, and he noted with increasing alarm that it appeared to be sealed shut. When he patted down his pockets he found his phone was gone, as was his wallet, Chap Stick, and his pack of gum. Even his shoes had been removed, though he couldn’t think of a reason why he’d have taken them off.

Woozily, he got to his feet, fending off a wave of dizziness as he made for the door. When he grabbed the handle he found it wouldn’t turn, not even when he jiggled and pulled with what little strength he could muster.

A little noise of fear escaped him, a small whimper, and he stepped back, knees hitting the edge of the bed so that he fell back onto it. His head was really starting to pound, making it hard to think again, and he didn’t know if he could summon the energy to get back up. Now though, he thought he remembered what had happened. Bert and the coffee shop. Seeing the stalker, following him like an idiot, and then…Some confusing images of Bert arguing with Reiner…Reiner wearing that jacket the stalker had worn…

“It was him,” Armin muttered to himself. Why though? Why would Reiner and Bert want to do this to him? Where had they taken him, and _why_?

Something sounded in the hallway, and he went stiff, feeling his heart begin to pound steadily with fear. There were footsteps, somebody trying to be quiet, but the floor creaked traitorously beneath their feet. Fueled by a sudden burst of adrenaline, Armin moved, settling himself on the bed in an approximation of the position he’d woken up in. As soon as the door opened, he’d make a run for it. He had no idea where he was, or who was coming, but he was sure he could make it past them if he could catch them by surprise.

The footsteps stopped right outside the door, and he heard the click of it being unlocked. Tensing, he readied himself, squeezing his eyes shut as the doorknob rattled. A heavy tread, a few steps inside, then a pause. Armin decided it was now or never, but he either misjudged how far they were inside, or they knew he wasn’t really unconscious. As he launched himself to his feet, he saw a body move to intercept him.

“Let me go!” Armin snarled as Reiner grabbed his arm before he could make it two steps out the door. He turned and swung with his free hand—his left hand—and Reiner grabbed the fist he’d made, his whole hand enveloping Armin’s and wrenching it back. For a second, Armin could only blanch silently, and then he screamed as the sound of something popping inside of his wrist resonated in the tiny space.

“Reiner?!” he heard Bert call from somewhere, but he couldn’t really concentrate on anything except the sudden, excruciating pain shooting through his fingers and up his arm. Whatever had been wrong with his wrist before was now expounded a thousand-fold. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his arm to his stomach with a sob as rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway. “What did you do?!” Bert demanded from behind him.

“He tried to escape!” Reiner shouted back, sounding panicked.

“So you broke his arm?!” Bert squeaked.

“Not on purpose! He swung at me!”

“He weighs like a hundred pounds Reiner, you didn’t have to break his arm!” Bertholdt sounded hysterical, on the verge of a complete breakdown as Armin whimpered on the floor, cradling his arm. Reiner made a sound of disgust, and Armin yelped as a strong hand grabbed him under the armpit and unceremoniously hauled him up to his feet. Reiner barely spared him a glance as he pushed Armin back into the room he’d been locked in, sending him sprawling across the bed. His wrist throbbed in agony as he landed on it, and he lay there motionless, trying to choke back any further noises of pain as his eyes welled up.

“Jesus Christ,” Bert was muttering, “This is wrong, it’s all wrong.”

“Bert—,”

“I told you, I told you didn’t I? This isn’t going to work! You broke his hand! Mr. Smith is going to murder us!” Bertholdt said, wringing his hands and blinking rapidly in the doorway, as if he was fighting back tears.

“Bert!” Reiner said, grabbing him by his shoulders and giving him a shake. “Relax, okay? I…I didn’t mean to hurt him. Was I supposed to just let him escape?”

“He couldn’t have gotten out of the apartment!” Bert hissed back.

“Fine, okay, I overreacted. Look, let’s just…tie him up, like we should have in the first place.”

“Tie him up?” Bert said incredulously, gesturing toward Armin’s prone form, “Does he look like he’s going anywhere?”

“Better safe than sorry, right?” Reiner said weakly.

“Reiner, this isn’t going to work,” Bert insisted. “It’s already going wrong. Wasn’t part of your plan for him to not realize we were the ones kidnapping him?”

“Well…I saw my chance, and I took it! The plan was taking too long. We might not have gotten another chance to grab him!”

“This isn’t the sort of thing you can just play by ear, Reiner!” Bert said, voice faltering into a whine.

“I know, alright? Look, we just…we need to calm down and think this through,” Reiner said, holding up his hands in a placating fashion. He turned to Armin, and the younger man closed his eyes tightly. “We shouldn’t be talking about this in front of him. Watch him for a minute while I get the rope, okay?”

Armin heard the floorboards creaking again, and when he opened his eyes, only Bertholdt was lurking in the doorway, staring down at him with a forlorn expression. “Why are you doing this?” he asked, voice creaking.

“I…I’m sorry Armin. I’ll tell you later.”

“Bert, please!” he whispered hoarsely, “You can let me go. I won’t tell Irwin who took me!”

“Yes you will,” Bertholdt said, shaking his head slowly, ruefully. The sound of Reiner’s return had him stepping back, and Armin curled in on himself as the larger man entered the room and loomed over him, reaching for his arms.

“Please don’t,” he whimpered, gasping in pain as Reiner pulled his hands behind his back and bound them haphazardly. This wasn’t like the time when Irwin had tied him up—the knots felt too tight and sloppy, something he might have been able to wriggle out of if he hadn’t tried to escape before. As it was, his wrist throbbed so strongly he thought he might actually pass out.

“We’ll bring you water in a while,” Reiner said, making it sound like Armin should be grateful that he was being so considerate.

“You don’t even have any clue what you’re doing, do you?” Armin asked, switching tactics. “You think Irwin won’t be able to track you down? You don’t know what he’s capable of.” Reiner glowered down at him, and Bert raised his fingers to his mouth, looking conflicted.

“He’s full of shit. Smith won’t have any clue where to find us, even if he does know we’re behind this,” Reiner said, though he didn’t look as confident as he felt. Having said his piece, he turned and ushered Bert back into the hall, and then the door was swinging shut. Armin heard the lock click back into place, and he turned his face into the comforter to muffle the sob he’d been holding back.

Feebly, he tried to wriggle his right arm, but the motion jostled his injured wrist too much, and he gave up with a shudder. If it weren’t for the glaring agony pulsing in his arm, the whole situation might have felt unreal. It still sort of did, in a way. With his head still aching and feeling fuzzy, he couldn’t wrap his mind around the fact that Bertholdt of all people was involved in all this. Not knowing why was already eating away at him. There had to be something he was missing. As soon as he found out what it was, this would all make sense, and he could figure out a way to free himself—if Irwin didn’t find him first, that was.

There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Irwin was already looking for him. Of course, that thought gave rise to others. Irwin had to know by now that Armin was missing. He’d only been a few minutes away from seeing his boyfriend when Reiner had jumped him. And Moblit…he couldn’t quite remember what had happened to Moblit. The images swam confusingly in his mind. Had he been knocked out, too? Even if he’d been unconscious as long as Armin had, somebody might have found him. Hell, Irwin might have sent people out to look for them both when Armin didn’t show up, or answer his calls.

And if Irwin was aware that Armin was missing…He felt his heart twist in his chest, almost more painfully than the throbbing in his wrist. Irwin must be freaking out, he thought. He would be so worried, blaming himself, frantically organizing the search for his missing boyfriend. _Oh, God. Please let me get back to him_. If anything happened to him, Irwin would be devastated. The older man wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Just thinking about it was almost enough to drive Armin into hysterical, guild-ridden tears. He couldn’t stand the thought of Irwin being afraid for him, of feeling like this was all his fault.

_He’s going to find me_ , he thought. Either Irwin would find him, or he’d figure out how to get out of this, and he’d find his way back to him. Reiner and Bertholdt clearly had no idea what they were doing. There was no way this whole scheme of theirs—whatever it might actually be—would succeed. He had to keep telling himself that to keep the terror at bay, to keep himself from breaking down completely. It wouldn’t do him any good if he were to lose it.

_If I want to see Irwin again, Eren and Mikasa, and Romy, I have to stay calm._ Even with his broken wrist, even tied up, alone, and with no idea where he was, he had to keep it together. Somehow.

X

“Irwin, would you like me to call the police?” Irwin could hear Levi talking to him, but the words weren’t registering. Aside from the pounding in his ears, nothing really had since he’d disconnected his call with Berner. He hadn’t really let the man finish talking; he’d ordered him in a cold, even tone to return to Irwin’s office immediately. Then he’d hung up. He wasn’t sure what else he might have said if he’d stayed on the line, but it wouldn’t have been pleasant. The way his ears rang, the way his limbs felt as if they suddenly weighed a thousand pounds each; Irwin couldn’t tell if it was all from fear, or rage, or both.

“Irwin.” A hand fell on his shoulder, warm and unexpected and he looked up to see Levi scowling down at him. After Irwin had hung up on Berner, he remembered numbly recounting what he’d been told to Levi, and then he’d started thinking, or trying to, trying to come up with an angle, trying to figure out what he ought to do. For some reason it felt like his mind was frozen, and all he could conjure up were thoughts of what he could have differently to keep Armin safe. “ _Irwin_!”

“Levi, please,” he said, hearing the uncharacteristic strain in his voice, the unnatural play of his words in the air. They felt weak, like they might shatter all around him, and he didn’t know what would happen if they did.

“Please, what?” Levi huffed, moving his hand from Irwin’s shoulder to the back of the CEO’s chair as he leaned forward, somehow managing to loom in spite of his short stature. “You need to pull it together, Smith. This isn’t the time for another one of your useless breakdowns.”

“I’m not having a breakdown,” Irwin said, hoping the statement rang true. He didn’t think he sounded as desperate this time around, and Levi seemed somewhat mollified in any case.

“Good. Because it isn’t just you who’ll get screwed over this time if you lose it now.” Levi was right, he knew. Panicking now was out of the question, and he wasn’t going to, but…Hearing that Armin was missing was simply the culmination of everything he’d been fearing these last weeks. When Moblit had waveringly told Irwin that he’d lost Armin, it had felt to Irwin like he’d failed, and miserably so. It was that proverbial punch in the gut—he could have sworn he’d forgotten how to breath for a minute, ice filling his veins as Moblit explained that he’d been unable to get a clear shot at the kidnappers, but he had a partial license plate.

“So what do you want me to do?” Levi asked, crashing into Irwin’s train of thought, “Call the cops, or handle this on our own?”

“I haven’t exactly done a great job handling all this on my own,” Irwin said reluctantly, though it felt like a massive understatement, “Call the police. But tell them to try to keep this out of the media, for as long as they can.”

Levi scoffed, but moved to obey. “You might have a few hours, but they’ll pick up on it sooner or later.”

“Just get us as much time as possible. We have Hoover’s address on file—,”

“I doubt he’d have brought the kid there,” Levi interjected as he held his phone to his ear.

“But if we can find anything there that might tell us where Armin is, we might be able to locate him before anything comes of it,” Irwin said.

“You know, it might be helpful for the media to pick this up. Isn’t that how they usually find missing people—Yes, I’m calling to report a kidnapping… _Yes_ , I’m sure, we have a goddamn eyewitness. What? You want me to fucking hold? Do you know where I’m calling from? I could have your ass fired in five minutes, don’t you fucking dare put me on hold unless you’re transferring me to the chief of police.” Levi spoke with his typical deadpan frigidity, conveying deadly seriousness without even raising his voice. The fact that he didn’t continue flinging threats meant that the operator was complying with his demands.

Irwin thought that Levi might be right about contacting the local news networks, but with everything they’d been through, with what Armin was going through right now…He’d always told Irwin that the older man couldn’t protect him forever, and it looked like he’d been right. Surely, trying to protect him now wouldn’t do them any good, and if his kidnappers knew they were being hunted, perhaps they’d give up. But first, he’d let the police give it a try. If they couldn’t find anything significant, then he’d go public.

“Where are you going?” Levi asked, still on the phone as Irwin rose up from his office chair.

“I’ll be right back,” was all Irwin said. He stepped out into the small lobby where Bertholdt’s desk sat, unoccupied. Irwin had agreed to let the boy come in later than usual today so he could meet with Armin. The thought that he’d facilitated his own boyfriend’s kidnapping made him feel momentarily sick with guilt and anger, but he pushed it down, feeling it roiling away in the pit of his stomach. Now wasn’t the time for that. He could blame himself for all of this later, once he had Armin back.

Bertholdt’s work area was a mess in spite of everything Armin had done to help him get organized. Irwin wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he began opening drawers, and logged into the computer with his executive account. He could directly access any computer in the building this way, though going through each one individually and without the employees’ knowledge would have taken forever. He also personally wasn’t a fan of spying on people, though he was sure that he was still morally culpable for allowing Levi to do so.

Nothing in the desk itself stood out as immediately important—there were a lot of empty food wrappers, and magazines stuffed in the drawers, which were unprofessional but not particularly alarming. The computer desktop was much the same. It was cluttered with seemingly random icons on top of the Titan Enterprises standard background image, most of them files of Excel or Word documents. Irwin was about to check Bertholdt’s work email when one file folder in particular caught his eye. It was labeled "i'm sorry,” no capitalization, but it stood out in a way that seemed almost foreboding.

_Annie_ , the document started off, formatted like a letter.

_I’m so sorry about everything. I don’t know if you’ll get to read this, but I’m really starting to worry. Reiner is becoming obsessed with this whole thing. I know he told you about it, when he visited you without me that time. I’m so scared he’s going to do something crazy. I love you just as much as he does, but this whole plan of his is even worse than Dawk’s scheme, which is saying something. I’ve been sitting here at this desk for almost a year, waiting for the cops to burst through the door and drag me away. Now that everything’s falling apart, I don’t know what to do. I wanted to quit, but Reiner convinced me to stay so I could be his inside man or something. I wish you were here to tell me what to do about it all. At this point, I don’t even know if he’d listen to_ you _if you told him to stop._

_Honestly, I really don’t think I’m going to send you this, and I’ll probably just delete it later, but Reiner did something scary the other day, and I don’t know how much more I can take. Maybe Mr. Smith or somebody will find this and they’ll put it all together before he can do anything. At this point, I feel like getting caught might actually be a relief. I’m not sure if Smith really spies on me. I think I’d probably have gotten caught a long time ago if he did, but I guess I really am that unnoticeable to people._

_I don’t want to go to jail, and I don’t want you to be in jail either, but there’s nothing legal, or not completely crazy that we can do about it. That’s the worst part, because I don’t know how far Reiner is willing to go to try and save you. I don’t know what he’s thinking these days. It’s like he’s not the Reiner we grew up with. This whole thing with you in jail is driving him insane. I’m not sure how this whole plan of his is works in his head, but I doubt it’ll work in real life. It’s just not realistic. Convincing him of that has been nearly impossible, though._

_I just don’t know what to do. I really don’t. I’ve always been indecisive. You guys always knew what you wanted, and I feel like I just sort of tagged along. Without you here to keep us focused, and with Reiner acting so irrationally, I feel like I don’t have any direction. It’s all just spinning out of control, and I really hope he doesn’t do anything stupid because I’m not sure I’ll be able to help him out of it._

_I can’t think of anything else to write. I should probably get back to work, not that anyone will notice what I’m doing._

_-Love, Bertl_

After reading it once, he read it again. Then again, and again, all while his mind raced, chasing the same thought in circles— _it was him all along_. Bertholdt, his awkward, ungainly, nervous assistant. The letter implied that it was Bertholdt who had been spying on him, and that he and his friends were heavily involved in this plot against Irwin and Titan Enterprises, and now they had Armin…

“Mr. Smith.” Irwin looked up from the computer screen. He’d heard someone enter the lobby but had been too engrossed in his own thoughts to acknowledge them.

“Berner,” he said, his own voice wooden in his ears.

For his part, Moblit Berner looked to be at a loss, not to mention disheveled; his suit was rumpled and dirty, and his face looked unusually red, as if sporting a rash. Irwin remembered first meeting him, remembered Berner’s consternation in the face of Hanji’s enthusiasm. Other than that, he’d always been strictly professional, and had taken his job protecting Armin very seriously. “Sir, I…,” he began, trailing off helplessly and staring at Irwin as if he was ready to accept whatever punishment the CEO saw fit to bestow upon him.

“Don’t,” Irwin said, moving from behind the desk to stand in from of the bodyguard. “I don’t want to hear any excuses.”

“I don’t have any, sir,” Berner answered honestly, his tone heavy with guilt.

“Good. I have another job for you.”

“A…But sir, I—,”

Irwin silenced him with a look, glowering down at the bodyguard until he shut his mouth with a sharp click. “I need you to do something for me after you talk to the police.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I need you to find Nile Dawk. Whatever you have to do, do it. Find him, and bring him to me.” Berner swallowed hard, and nodded.

“I can do that, sir.”

“Good. And if for any reason you can’t, then you had better disappear. I won’t accept another failure,” Irwin told him, holding Berner’s gaze with a steely look that brooked no argument.

“I understand, sir,” Berner said, drawing himself back up into the very picture of a man on duty.

“Good.” Down the hallway, Irwin heard the elevator door ding, and knew without having to look that the police had arrived. “It goes without saying that you’ll be keeping this between us for now,” he added. Berner didn’t answer this time, just turned toward the hall as if he’d fully accepted his fate.

Truthfully, Irwin wasn’t sure what he’d do with Dawk if he got his hands on him. He felt a violence brewing within himself that he hadn’t felt in a long time. In fact, he’d thought _that_ part of him had died, but apparently he’d been wrong. It was just that if anything happened to Armin…Somebody would pay. Somebody would be made to hurt as much as Armin was hurting. As much as Irwin was. _He’ll come back to me,_ Irwin told himself. He couldn’t think about Armin being hurt, Armin being scared, because it might just drive him over the edge.

_I’ll bring him back_ , he thought. He’d do it, or he’d carve a bloody path Nile Dawk and Bertholdt Hoover’s lives trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a bad person. 
> 
> Also I think somebody guessed a while ago that Bert was the spy, so congratulations, you won the prize. (the prize is the satisfaction of winning).
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took over a month. Brief mention of drug use in this chapter.

Reiner paced back and forth on the already worn carpet covering the equally worn floorboards in their living room. He wouldn’t stop, even when Bertholdt suggested that he try to sit and relax. Only for a moment had he perched tensely on the edge of the couch, but then he scoffed and got back up and went right back to pacing. Bert felt that he could only watch and fret. His left leg wouldn’t stop jittering, bouncing anxiously against the floor and the sagging sofa, while he nervously worried at his lower lip until it was raw.

“I’m going to bring Armin some water,” he announced abruptly, lurching awkwardly to his feet. Reiner came to an equally sudden stop in his circuitous route back and forth across their tiny living room, and leveled Bertholdt with an unreadable look.

“Don’t untie him,” he said.

“Why would I untie him?” Bert asked, stung. Reiner was probably the last person on Earth who still trusted him, even if this was a pretty horrible thing to trust somebody with.

“Just don’t, okay? Don’t untie him to let him stretch, or go to the bathroom, or anything else he might try to trick you into untying him for, alright?” Bert nodded, though internally he began to worry about what he’d have to do if Armin _did_ wind up needing to use the bathroom. They’d grabbed him about two hours ago now. He was bound to need to relieve himself, not to mention eat and drink and all those sorts of “necessary for survival” things sooner or later.

Rather than bring up any of these points to Reiner, he held in a worried sigh and shuffled toward the kitchen. Really more of a little nook in the far corner of the living room, their kitchen at least had a sink and a fridge, though that was about it. Even the microwave had crapped out on them, and neither of them had bothered to replace it yet. Bert reached up into one of the cabinets and retrieved a relatively clean glass, scraping a fleck of something off the rim with a chewed-down nail. Just as he was about to turn on the tap there came a quick burst of knocking on their flimsy front door, and he nearly dropped the glass.

“It’s him,” Reiner said, striding across the room. In spite of his certainty, he paused to look through the peephole just to make sure, then he undid the locks and pulled the door open.

“You two derelicts better have a good reason for calling me out here,” Nile Dawk said as he pushed into the room, sweeping off the hat and sunglasses he’d likely worn to disguise himself. Bert wasn’t a hundred percent sure, but he didn’t think many people would know who he was if they _did_ see him. Though he guessed it was a good idea to make sure nobody could remember his face later on. If only he and Reiner could have accomplished the same.

“We do,” Reiner said coolly.

“Well, out with it, I don’t have—What’s that racket?” All three men turned toward the hall at the unexpected onset of muffled thumping and yelling. Bert’s heart made a mad scramble up his esophagus as he realized it was Armin causing the uproar.

“Shit,” Reiner muttered as he started toward the bedroom.

“Wait! I-I’ll take care of it!” Bert cried, jumping in front of him. All he could remember was the look of agony on Armin’s face after the last time Reiner had gone to check up on him. Even if it really had been unintentional, he didn’t want to risk letting Reiner slip again.

“Take care of what?” Dawk demanded, eyebrow cocked in suspicion. “What’s down there?” Without waiting for Reiner to answer, Bert turned and hurried from the room, though he heard Dawk’s loud exclamation of “What?!” a few seconds later. Honestly, if Smith didn’t find them and kill them, Nile Dawk might just do it first. He’d never really had much patience for Bertholdt, even less so for Reiner. He’d be furious at them for this, for pulling such a stunt and fumbling it so badly. That was why Reiner had decided to call him, though Bert still felt like it was a bad idea to involve the irritable businessman.

With shaking hands, Bert unlocked the bedroom door and hurried inside, where he found that Armin had maneuvered himself onto his side and was kicking the wall with his bare feet. “Help!” he shouted furiously between kicks, “Help me!”

“Armin, stop!” Bert hissed, holding up his hands. He paused a few feet away though, afraid that Armin might throw a few kicks his way, but instead the blond just slumped, panting harder than his tantrum could account for.

“Somebody has to have heard that,” he huffed softly, more to himself than to Bert.

“No,” Bert said, shaking his head unhappily, “Nobody can hear you in here, Armin.”

“Don’t tell me it’s soundproofed,” he groaned. Bert hesitantly stepped closer, and saw how pale Armin looked, his face alarmingly sheet-white and clammy.

“Well, no but,” Bert pointed at the wall he’d been kicking, “That’s the back of the building,” he pointed to the wall with the window, “That’s the alley,” the far wall, “My room is on the other side,” the door, “and the bathroom is across the hall, there. If anybody heard you it would be too faint to hear what you were saying. And nobody around here pays attention anyway.”

Armin lifted his head, his eyes glassy with pain as he eyed Bert. “Did you bring me something to drink?” he rasped, and Bert looked down at his hand, at the glass he’d forgotten he was holding.

“Oh, right,” he said. He turned and left the room, shutting the door behind him. For a second he considered leaving it unlocked, but he had a feeling Armin would be listening for the sound of the lock clicking. After spending so much time with the younger man, he knew how sharp and observant he could be.

From the living room came the sound of tense, arguing voices, too low for him to discern what they were saying. Rather than try to sneak past them, he went into the bathroom and filled the glass in the sink there. He felt a little guilty for it, though he didn’t think there was really a difference, and Armin certainly wouldn’t know where he’d gotten the water from.

After Bert returned to the room and gingerly helped the blond sit up, he held the glass to his lips and let Armin take slow, careful sips until he turned his head away. “Thanks,” he muttered, still sounding strained, eyes still full of prey-like terror.

“God, Armin,” Bert said as he sat the glass on the nightstand and dragged a hand down his face, “I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you got dragged into this.”

“No you’re not,” Armin whispered, staring down at his lap.

“Of course I am!” Bert argued, “You think I’m not horrified by this, too?”

“You’re not the one bound and trapped like an animal,” Armin retorted. Bert snapped his jaw shut, knowing he had nothing he could realistically say to that in his defense. “I feel sick,” Armin said just as Bert was opening his mouth to apologize again.

“Like, nauseous, or…?” Bert asked, feeling a mounting sense of disgust toward himself. What were they doing? Like, what were they _really_ doing to this poor kid? Armin was an innocent bystander. He’d only been indirectly responsible for the bad things that had happened to them recently. He didn’t even know why he was here, for Christ’s sake.

“My arm hurts so much,” he croaked, “I need…I need to lie down.” Again, Bert helped him to move, laying him on his right side in the hopes it wouldn’t agitate his wrist too much.

Straightening, Bert backed away from the bed and said, “I’m going to…” To what, he wasn’t sure. Confront Reiner? Run screaming out of the building? Both?

Before he could reach the door, he heard somebody come striding down the hallway, and then right behind him a voice barked out, “Oh, God dammit!” He jumped out of the way as Dawk stormed into the room, staring down at Armin in disbelief, as if up till then he’d been hoping it was all a big joke.

“You see?” Reiner said, “We need your help!”

“You…you little fucking idiots!” Dawk spat, rounding on them both. Bert tried to sink into the wall as Reiner stood defiantly in the doorway, glowering down at Dawk. “What did you think this would accomplish?”

“We—,” Reiner began, but Dawk cut him off.

“Yes, yes, your precious girlfriend, I know. In case you weren’t aware, they don’t just fucking let people out of prison as trade-offs for hostage negotiations,” Dawk said, every line of his face contorted with scorn.

Bert exchanged a significant look with his best friend, and Reiner looked momentarily cowed, uncertain. “Well…it has to do something. You can do something!”

“I have to now, don’t I?” Dawk snarled, “I can’t believe you imbeciles dragged me into this.” He reached up and pressed a hand over his eyes, frowning intensely. “Maybe,” he muttered, “Maybe, if I can play this right, we can all get what we want.”

Bert’s stomach coiled uncomfortably. He didn’t like the look in Dawk’s eyes when he dropped his hand. He also didn’t like the way he turned and looked at Armin, sneering down at him. “Look at you,” he said, “Not so feisty now, eh?” He stepped forward, and reached down, brushing at the collar of Armin’s shirt. “Look at this. Smith gave you this, did he?” Bert could just make out the deep purple/red hickey on Armin’s throat, and it made him shiver. Such a blatant mark on his body had to have been left like that deliberately. “Disgusting,” Dawk said, voice low, and even Reiner jumped when he suddenly hauled off and backhanded Armin across the face.

“Hey!” Reiner said, stepping forward, but Dawk held up a hand to forestall him.

“Let him see _that_ mark. When he gets his boy back, let him see _that_ and remember.”

There was blood on Armin’s lip after Dawk turned and left the room, fresh tears tracking down his face from tightly shut eyes. “Shit,” Reiner said, his expression far away, “Shit, I didn’t think he’d hit him. I mean, his arm was an accident, but…” For the first time, Bert thought he might be getting the fact that they were far too deep into something they couldn’t handle, but then Reiner swallowed hard and closed his eyes, resolve overtaking his features. He turned and followed Dawk without a word, and for a moment Bert wavered between trailing after him and trying to comfort Armin.

“Please,” he heard the boy whimper, voice small and terrified, “I want to go home. Let me go home.” Once again, he wasn’t talking to Bert. It almost sounded like he was praying, pleading, and Bert felt something throb painfully in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again. He turned and left the room at that, locking the door behind him as he swallowed down a thick sense of dread.

X

Levi had a problem with cops. Not just the usual “ugh, damn I got caught speeding once, fuck the police,” type of problem. Having his head slammed against the hood of a cruiser one too many times had seriously skewed his view of those who were allegedly out to “serve and protect.” Granted, he was usually doing something he shouldn’t have been at the time, but usually not bad enough to warrant such unduly rough treatment.

For Irwin, though, he gritted his teeth and managed to make it through the questioning faze without being as rude as he normally would have been. Calling the police had been his suggestion, after all, and they would need as many avenues as possible open to help find Irwin’s missing brat.

Comforting was something Levi really wasn’t, but seeing his oldest friend in such a state of duress was disheartening. Irwin stood tall and rigid, his façade likely impenetrable to Berner, and the cops, and anyone else who might get involved, but Levi knew better. Irwin was full of shit at the best of times, pretending to be this cold, heartless asshole, when in reality he was a squishy, disgusting softie, though he did his best to pretend he wasn’t. For a while he’d even had Levi fooled into thinking that part of him was dead and buried, nonexistent.

That was why Armin had been good for him. The kid was too smart for his own good, and a wiseass on levels that made Levi’s blood boil in parts, while being mildly impressed in others. Sometimes he wanted to strangle the little shit, but most of the time Arlert was tolerable. He was Irwin’s, and he’d also made a friend of Petra, so at the very least Levi had had to put up with him. And shit, if it wasn’t for the kid, he and Irwin could be rotting in fucking prison right now. Though by the look on Irwin’s face, he might have preferred to be in jail rather than have Armin in harm’s way.

“I’ll have somebody from HR pull up Hoover’s personal information,” Levi said, and Irwin just gave him a tacit nod. Technically, it wasn’t something they were supposed to just hand over, but he wasn’t really in the mood for doing things by the book. Not that he really ever was—if it was up to him he’d drive over there on his own and kick some teeth in, but Irwin never let him have any fun anymore.

As soon as he had Hoover’s personnel file, he handed it gingerly to the cops, and then watched them assure Irwin they would do everything in their power to find Armin. The entire time he had to fight back a sneer—Irwin didn’t need him acting like a piece of shit today.

A few cops remained behind while the rest went to prepare for a raid on Hoover’s apartment, or to get donuts—probably both. The ones who stayed said something about questioning other employees who knew the assistant, but Levi noted a suspicious lack of the name “Nile Dawk,” in any of Irwin’s answers to their questions. He’d read the letter Irwin had found, so he knew just as well as his employer did that Dawk likely had something to do with this.

As soon as the door to his office shut, the CEO dropped into his chair and stared rigidly out the window. He was like a statue, appearing solid and unbreakable, but Levi knew he would crumble given enough prodding. He’d seen it happen before, and unfortunately for Irwin, Levi was the only one around at the time to pick up the pieces. Not that he hadn’t tried, hadn’t kicked Irwin’s ass every day for a year to pull him back, but he knew he wasn’t really the best person to play shrink. It had taken a lot more than just his intervention in the end, and it wasn’t something he wanted a repeat performance of. If they couldn’t get Armin back…

“You’re planning something,” Levi said after a quiet moment of assessment. Irwin gave no answer, just frowned a little more deeply, the way his eyes were too sharply focused making Levi’s head hurt. “And you’re not going to tell me about it.”

“I’m thinking,” Irwin said.

“Of what? How you’re going to kill Hoover and whoever else is behind this?” Levi asked as he folded his arms across his chest.

“No,” Irwin said, and then he seemed to sag slightly, as if something was crushing him from the inside out. Levi had no misgivings about what that might be.

“Look, Irwin—,”

“Levi, you’re not the type for sentiment. You don’t have to say anything,” Irwin interrupted, and Levi bit the inside of his mouth to keep from sniping back at him. “Could you do me a favor and contact Armin’s friends?” Irwin asked.

“Fine,” Levi agreed stiffly, feeling useless. His talents didn’t lay in waiting around patiently for other people to do things. The days of taking things into his own hands in the way he wanted to right then were over, though. No more getting his hands dirty, no he had lackeys for that now. Useless assistants who were only good for getting him coffee, and they even managed to mess that up most of the time, though since Arlert had chewed him out he’d been trying not to make them cry quite as often. They weren’t good for much, but hey, they’d never betrayed the company or kidnapped anyone, which was a point in their favor he supposed.

Knowing he wasn’t really the best person to tell Armin’s friends what had happened to him, Levi ruminated on his other options for about ten minutes before deciding his best course of action would be to tell Petra. Petra got along better with Armin than he did, and he was sure she knew his friends, though he didn’t relish the thought of making her cry. And he knew she would cry, and he was absolutely right, and her panic over the phone made his gut knot up uncomfortably. Levi was a shit shoulder to cry on, and he knew it, and he knew he was an asshole for asking her to tell Armin’s friends, but he also knew he’d make it worse if he did it himself.

“I’ll tell them,” she said, voice shaky, “Just find him, Levi. I know you can. Do whatever you have to do, even if Irwin says no.”

“I might have to,” he said. He had a bad feeling about all of this, worse than just the knowledge that Armin was missing. If Dawk was involved, things could get very bad for them very fast. Armin knew the man was a fuckhead, but he didn’t know everything, and he was sure Irwin wouldn’t have told him, because he didn’t think Irwin knew either. Dawk was a slimy weasel, the worst piece of shit from the lowest sewers. His whole family was that way, nothing but a bunch of liars and crooked white-collar pricks, and Levi knew it best.

They’d fought once, the first time Levi had met him—or it was more like Levi had attacked Dawk, with what little provocation he’d needed to incite him to violence back then. Irwin had been in Iraq, and Dawk had been back home, acting like a fuckboy. He loved harassing women, loved breaking the law and having his father bail him out, loved lying and getting away with shit, and Levi heard all of this from Petra, whose mother was pushing her at Dawk, pushing her at any young, available heir to a fortune. Levi ran into Dawk at the country club where he worked because his probation officer demanded that he have a job. It was where he met Petra and Irwin, and all the rich snobs who made him want to go back to huffing paint and pawning off the shit he stole during home robberies.

Long story short, Levi met Dawk, and by met he meant he was in the same room with him for about five minutes before knowing he was going to kick his ass. Dawk was going on about the shit he’d done, the cops his father had paid off to keep him out of trouble, and there Levi was, no parents, nobody to protect his ass when he stole something to eat, and he had to leave the room before he broke something.

Honestly, he tried, he really tried to rein in his temper for months, but Nile Dawk grated on him in a way he couldn’t properly explain. There was no rationality to the way he followed Dawk out to his car that night and knocked his feet out from under him, broke his nose when he tried to get up, then kicked him while he was down. Later on he would think that Irwin’s father had hired Dawk to work at his company as a way to test Levi, to remind him to control himself. Harold Smith was the one who stopped Levi that night, who caught him and helped to sweep the incident under the rug so that even Irwin didn’t know about it. As powerful as the Dawk’s were, they were still petrified of Harold Smith, and after a lot of posturing Nile’s father agreed not to press charges. Levi still wasn’t sure why Harold Smith did it; aside from knowing that Irwin somehow found Levi’s company agreeable, Mr. Smith had had no reason to try to help him.

So Levi never mentioned it, figuring Irwin didn’t need to hear it when he came back from war, barely able to walk without being in total agony. Irwin thought that Levi wound up working for his father once he saw how the former street thug was trying to help his son through his recovery, and Levi just never corrected him. Irwin never understood why Levi and Nile seemed to hate each other more than they hated anyone else, and just chalked it up as a mostly harmless rivalry.

It wasn’t even satisfying to finally have all his bitching about Dawk finally justified. Levi had always known the extent of his dirty, underhandedness, knew the man lacked any real competence in anything but lying to get what he wanted. A few times he’d come worryingly close to throwing the bastard out a window, but he figured he must be getting old because the prospect of jail time was just enough of a deterrent to stop him. When he’d been younger a few days in lockup had been a minor inconvenience, but now that he was “respectable” he knew he didn’t have any time for that shit.

_I should have told Irwin everything_ , he thought, fighting back a bitter wave of hatred. Would Irwin have fired Dawk though, if he’d known? No, Levi thought. Irwin was a man of the present. What was in the past was in the past, and he remembered, yes, but he didn’t hold grudges. Not the way Levi did.

Fuck any promises he’d made to Harold Smith. If Levi had known Dawk would take things this far, he would have done something about it. There were people he knew, people who owed him, and Dawk could have disappeared without so much as a trace if Levi had had the balls to do something about it. He still could, he knew. There was a black book in his desk, one he kept current, updating every year just in case he needed something done that he couldn’t do himself. One phone call, and somebody could find Nile Dawk, find Bertholdt Hoover and his pals, and find Armin, and—

“Levi.” He jumped, pulling his hands away from his head. Irwin was standing at the door, and Levi hadn’t realized it but he was hunched over his desk, the black book in front of him between his elbows.

“What?” he snapped as Irwin stepped into the office, wearing a darkly solemn expression that Levi knew bore bad news.

“The police searched the building Hoover listed as his address. They said it’s condemned, that nobody lives there,” Irwin told him, leaning against the wall and staring off at nothing.

Levi’s mind ran through the implications. They did background checks on their employees. Somebody would have noted that the building Hoover was supposed to live in was uninhabitable. Which meant somebody else had covered it up. Fucking great. How much did he want to bet that that person was Nile Cocksucking Dawk?

“Are you gonna tell me what your secret plan is now?” Levi asked as ran a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to rip it out in chunks.

Irwin looked at him briefly, then went back to staring vacantly at the wall. “I told Berner to find Nile Dawk for me.”

“Well, shit, I could have done that.”

“No. Berner will find him.”

“And then what?” Levi asked, “You’ll beat the shit out of him?”

“I’ll make him tell me where Armin is.”

“You don’t even know that he knows,” Levi said. Oh, he was pretty sure Dawk had something to do with this, because he had something to do with fucking everything that had gone wrong in Levi’s life for about ten years now. On the off chance that he didn’t though, Levi figured it was best that Irwin didn’t make things worse. “You should let me handle this, Irwin,” he said.

“You’ll kill him,” Irwin said.

“You think I have that little self-control? Fuck, don’t answer that. Look, I…We’ll get your boy back, Irwin. One way or another.” If the cops couldn’t do it, and the media fucked things up, then Levi would do what he had to, whether Irwin liked it or not.

“I know,” Irwin said, his voice dangerously soft, giving Levi a look like he was talking about more than just getting Armin back. He knew what Levi was thinking, he knew what the black book was, even if he’d never said anything about it. “I know.”

X

They did it in the room where they had him tied up. Armin’s face was still stinging from when Dawk had hit him when he heard the door unlocking. His breath seized in his chest, and he curled in on himself, expecting more abuse, but this was far, far worse.

“Here,” Reiner said, holding something out to him that looked like a recording device—as it turned out, that was exactly what it was. “Talk into that,” he said, “Whine, and beg for help or whatever. Tell your boyfriend you love him.”

“Why?” Armin said, though he thought he knew why.

“Dawk—we’re going to ransom you. If Smith gives us what we want we’ll let you go.”

“W-what do you want?” Armin asked shakily, still dizzy, still nauseous, and more so with every second. He had a bad, twisted feeling that Irwin would give them whatever they asked for.

“A million dollars,” Reiner said scornfully, “None of your goddamn business, kid. Just talk.”

“No.” Armin knew it was the wrong thing to say, but he didn’t care. His whole arm was throbbing, and his wrist was cold and numb, his fingers tingling dangerously. He was pretty sure he would have a bruise on his face, could feel the heat there, and wondered if his cheek was swollen. There had been blood in his mouth, and he could feel the jagged spot inside of his cheek where his flesh had been broken against his teeth.

Reiner’s eyes flashed, something changing in them, something Armin had seen the night Reiner had cornered him at the bar. He squeezed his eyes shut as his kidnapper stepped forward, and felt an odd pang of relief when he heard Bertholdt speak from the doorway.

“Reiner,” was all he said, and Armin cracked an eye open to see that Reiner had turned to face him. “Let me do it.”

They stared at each other for a moment, communicating silently, then Reiner sighed dramatically, and shoved the device into Bertholdt’s hand. “Fine,” he said, like they had just decided who was going to do the dishes. “Make it quick, though. I still gotta make the call after this.”

Bertholdt just nodded, waiting until Reiner left the room and shut the door behind him before walking over to the bed. “Gonna tell me you’re sorry again?” Armin spat at him from where he lay.

The tall man flinched, and Armin felt a brief flutter of satisfaction. “I don’t think it matters anymore how sorry I am,” he said. He looked down at the recorder in his hand, and then hung his head. “Just try to cooperate, okay? I don’t want them to hurt you anymore.”

“Why don’t you stop them?” Armin asked scornfully.

“I can’t.”

“You could, if you wanted to.”

Bertholdt smiled with an uncharacteristically bitter edge, “You still have way more confidence in me than I do in myself. Trust me, if I could have stopped this, we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“So, why are we here, then? What did I do to you guys to deserve this, or are you just going after my boyfriend?” Armin asked. “I think I have a right to know,” he added when Bertholdt didn’t answer right away.

“Yeah,” he said softly, “I guess you do. You know during the trial, that girl Annie who testified against Mr. Smith?”

“Yeah,” Armin said.

“She’s…she’s our friend. I’ve known her since we were little. She’s like our sister, and after the trial, she was arrested for perjury. Now she’s in jail, waiting for her trial. Unlike Mr. Smith, she can’t make bail, and neither can we, so she’s stuck in county lock-up,” Bertholdt said.

“And you want Irwin to pay her bail?” Armin asked, “That’s what all this is about?”

“Well, yeah,” Bertholdt said with a little half-hearted shrug, “Basically. I just don’t think it’ll work. Mr. Dawk threatened to hurt us if she told the truth, I think, so she won’t testify against him. I don’t think Reiner knows that, or he doesn’t care, since he thinks this is all Mr. Smith’s fault. I think he just figures if Annie can make bail, we can disappear. But, that’s as far as he’s planned. We barely have any money, and I know Mr. Smith would come after us. Even if we could get plane tickets, or head for the border, somebody would find us.” All of it came spilling out in a rush, and he began looking more and more panicked with each word.

“So tell _him_ that,” Armin said.

“I have!” Bert said, jumping to his feet, “I’ve told him a thousand times, but…” his voice dropped and he turned to Armin, “I think…I think there’s something wrong with him. It’s like he’s lost touch with reality, and I don’t know what to do. And now Mr. Dawk is involved, and he...” Bert stopped and swallowed hard, eyes round.

“He what?” Armin asked, “Wasn’t he involved the whole time?”

Bertholdt shook his head, “No. No, he didn’t know about this. I don’t even think any of it was _his_ idea. He kissed up to the board of directors. I…I think he was their puppet. And now…h-he wants to use you as leverage.” Armin felt his stomach drop, and his blood go cold.

“He can’t.”

“He can,” Bertholdt said, “Please Armin, just do the recording. Say whatever you want, I don’t care. Just…I don’t want you to get hurt.” Armin stared up at him, fighting fatigue and pain as he tried to think. All of this could have been an act, could have just been some big Good Cop, Bad Cop routine, and he was the sucker.

“Okay,” he said. Because he didn’t have much choice, now did he? He couldn’t escape, not yet, and he needed to buy some time to think, to figure out a way to get out of this. Now more than ever he knew he had to, because Dawk was gunning for Irwin, and Armin couldn’t stand the thought of him worrying, wondering where Armin was, doing whatever it took to save him.

“Good,” Bertholdt sighed, looking relieved. “Just…just play along with this, and I promise, they’ll let you go.” Armin had his doubts about that, but he let Bertholdt sit him up again, and cleared his throat as he tried to think of what he could say. He was sure if he told Irwin not to comply with their demands, they would just cut it out, so it would have to be something else, something straightforward.

“Ready?” Bertholdt asked him, and he nodded.

X

“ _Baby, it’s me.”_ The phone at Irwin’s desk had rung, and the detective had nodded at him to answer. He hadn’t been expecting to hear Armin’s voice, and for a moment his own words stuck in his throat. “ _I’m okay_ ,” Armin said, “ _I’m…I’m okay_.”

But he wasn’t, and Irwin could hear it in his voice, in the soft strain, the odd tremulous quality that wasn’t like his lover at all. “Armin,” he said, but the younger man kept talking, and that’s when he realized it was just a recording.

“ _I’m safe. Just…don’t be afraid. I know you’ll come for me. Just please be safe, baby. I love you_.” The recording cut off there, and Irwin swore he heard something, like Armin had kept talking, and he would have given anything to know what else he’d said. Be safe, though. Wherever he was, he had to be terrified, and he was more concerned about Irwin staying safe. _Oh God, Armin_.

“Irwin Smith,” a new voice said, and Irwin closed his eyes, tried to remember if he knew that voice from somewhere.

“I’m listening,” he said, certain that he hadn’t.

“Good. You know that Armin is alive—,”

“That was obviously a recording. I know nothing of the sort,” he interjected.

“Don’t interrupt,” the voice snapped, “Armin _is_ alive. He’s a little worse for wear, but if you do what I say we’ll give him back.”

“Absolutely not. You’ll deliver him to me, immediately.”

“Or what? You’ll have us arrested? Send us to jail? If you don’t do exactly as _I_ say, I’ll kill him myself. I’ll even film it and send it to you.”

“If you do that you’ll get _nothing_ ,” Irwin said through his teeth, feeling something strain painfully behind his ribs.

“Yeah, but if I’m going down, you’re going down with me. If I can make you suffer it’ll be worth losing everything else.”

There was a pause there, and for a moment Irwin let it hang. The detective waved at him, making a motion to keep the kidnapper talking while he recorded and tracked the call. Irwin took a deep breath and said, “What do you want?”

“Annie Leonhardt,” the voice said too quickly, almost eagerly, “She’s in Trost County Correctional. Post her bail, and let her go. Give her a prepaid phone. Nobody follows her.”

“Is that all?” Irwin asked stiffly, remembering the name as belonging to the girl who’d lied about him in court.

“No. You’re going to arrange a press conference. You’re going to announce that you’re stepping down as CEO of Titan Enterprises. You can keep whatever money is your own, but you have to relinquish all other assets connected to the company, including shares, property, and whatever.”

“What!” Levi hissed, nearly dropping the headphone he’d been listening on. The cops hadn’t wanted to give him one, but he was insistent.

“Why?” Irwin asked, “What do you gain from that?”

“You’ll see,” the voice said. There was nothing smug or false in his tone, just cold surety. Irwin had dealt with people like this, so he knew—he’d meant it when he said he would kill Armin. There’d been an almost casual air to the way he’d said it, and Irwin believed him without a doubt.

Something settled into the pit of his stomach then, something hot and awful, and he closed his eyes. “You have twenty-four hours,” the voice told him, and then the line went dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I gotta go to bed now. I have to get up early to start my new job. 
> 
> It's nine thirty. I'm a big baby about getting up early.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading. It's been almost a year since I started writing this. I can't believe it's still going and that people still like it so much. uwu


End file.
